


The Compass

by NymeriaKing (DisappearingGirl)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Artist Ben Solo, Botany, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Mercenaries, Mercenary Armitage Hux, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Power Dynamics, Slavery, Under-negotiated Kink, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 09:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisappearingGirl/pseuds/NymeriaKing
Summary: Young Ben Solo, son of the famous traveler Han Solo and the scholar Leia Organa, struggles to make his own name as the first illustrator in the family. When the wealthy collector Snoke sponsors an expedition in search the rare and mystical Atrius's Bane, which his grandfather sought to cultivate years before, Ben jumps at the chance to restore his grandfather's work and showcase his own talents. In the company hired by Snoke, Ben meets a host of con-artists, criminals, slavers, outcasts, and one abrasive ex-soldier named Armitage.Armitage laughs, and it's too loud in the small room, too joyful to be real. "Why do you think people should shelter you from the truth, Solo? It's out there. It can't be ignored. We don't all owe you rainbows and candies and hugs and kisses. Get over yourself."
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, minor Dopheld Mitaka/Thannison
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48
Collections: Kylux Big Bang 2019





	1. Fleeing Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This fic includes many adult themes, so please reference the tags to ensure this fic is suitable to you, the reader. For clarification, none of the abuse is between Ben and Armitage, though it does involve them both as victims.
> 
> I worked with the lovely niibeth on this Big Bang project! Her art and prompt are so wonderful, and it's been a great joy to be a part of it! You can view her art here in the fic, as well as [reblog it from her tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com/post/188883424338/obey) and [retweet it from her twitter](https://twitter.com/Kortesku/status/1192501536259227658).

Standing with his back straight and his feet planted firmly on the floor, Ben wrings his hands nervously behind his back. He hasn't shown his portfolio to many — certainly never to anyone as distinguished as Snoke.

The office is dark, unlit save for the raised windows that skim the vaulted ceiling, and the resulting chill pulls goosebumps from his arms, even under his long sleeves. Looking around at the various pieces on display, he feels out of place. Inadequate.

Paintings and sculptures in all styles, all moods. Specimen jars and diagrams. Books, hundreds of them, all physical and printed on flimsy — at least he hopes they are, considering the many other materials that might be used.

It's a wide assortment, and these in the office are only the tip of it, he knows. The collection is known to span the area of the manor, and everyone's heard of his Ilum vault, where he keeps the more temperature-sensitive items.

The quality is what excludes Ben. He could never hope to place a piece in this collection. He has never had the raw skill, nor the years of nurturing and outside support to foster the control necessary for such fine work. His family never lacked money, so the tools and media were never difficult to obtain, but perfection was, has always been, quite possibly always will be out of his reach.

It is a lucky thing his illustrations are not all that support his bid.

The portfolio is closed with a dull snap, making Ben's heart jump. He pulls his eyes from the bookcase behind the old man and fixes his gaze on the desk where the old man's hands rest.

"Your work is decent enough, Mister Solo," Snoke rasps. When Ben looks up at him, he curls a lip. "But you and I both know that's not any reason for me to offer you a sponsorship to join this expedition."

Ben swallows. "Of course, sir."

It's a line he's used to hearing — the clarification that his skills alone are not well-enough honed to justify anyone else's expense, that he owes his successes to his parents, to their legacy and their friendly connections. It's not untrue. Of course, he had stubbornly ignored reality for too many years before Snoke knocked some sense into him, and he had passed up every good opportunity that had been gifted to him because of it.

But that changes today. He won't pass up this golden opportunity.

"It's been two decades since anyone has handled Atrius's Bane. Even after all this time, it could be worth," Snoke pauses dramatically, eyes smirking, "_everything_." His words carry a heavy weight that settles over Ben's shoulders, that strengthens his spine, and he takes comfort in it. "Do you know what that means, Mister Solo?"

Ben hesitates, then nods slowly. Truthfully, he isn't sure exactly what Snoke is getting at, but when the man expects an answer, he must give one.

"It means your grandfather would not have died for nothing." Snoke smiles wide, crepey skin stretching over yellowed teeth. "It means your family's legacy would be fully restored. You would no longer be a nobody. _If_ you do not fail us."

The _if_ hangs heavy in the room.

Ben swallows and nods again. "Of course, sir. I will not fail this mission."

Snoke cackles a short laugh. "You are an artist, boy. I would rather take your father, your mother, your uncle — _anybody_ but you. They are all vastly more talented and far better prepared. They saw your grandfather's work, and they followed his footsteps. You saw his work, and you sat at home to draw pictures."

Ben is well aware of the choices he made, but it's too late to go back now. "I studied everything he left behind, especially what he wrote about Atrius's Bane. I will finally follow his footsteps, and I will restore our legacy."

"But will you?" Snoke grits out. "Everything, of course, can go wrong. Just like it did for your grandfather."

Ben wrings his hands again, bowing his head and idly wondering how closely he'll follow in Anakin's footsteps.

"The plant might poison you, or you might get lost in the terrain, or perhaps you'd have a more acute encounter that would end your part of the mission."

Snoke thinks he's too soft; it's not the first time he's voiced that opinion.

"I won't make any mistakes," Ben insists. "I'll follow every direction to the letter. If that plant can be found, then I will find it. If it can be cultivated safely, if it can really do what legend says, then I will figure it out."

The room is silent for a minute before Ben realizes what Snoke wants.

"Please," he whispers. "Mister Snoke, I—"

"You need this," Snoke finishes. "For so many reasons. You are underdeveloped in every sense, and this mission would be a boon to you."

"Yes."

The old man scoffs. "The expedition would last at least six weeks. There's no way to drop down into any place above Velthym, so we'll be hiking and climbing from there for a month. It will get cold, and you will become miserable."

Ben nods. His grandfather's last journal detailed his hike as a long and terrible one. He'd read it at least a hundred times a child. He knows what to expect.

"There is already a navigator on the mission, but we will be relying primarily on Anakin's writings as we reach Atrius's Lookout, so be sure to take care of those and bring them along. Bring his sketches, too." He pats a hand over Ben's portfolio. "You may bring your...art book along, if you need it."

"I will record everything I can about the plant, Mister Snoke."

"Good." He pushes the portfolio across the desk for Ben to take. "I believe the total number of our company will be nine, including you. They are all scoundrels, as investors and collectors tend to hire, so don't act a fool."

For what feels like the first time since he set foot in this office, Ben breathes. He picks his portfolio up off the desk, hugging it to his chest. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate this opportunity, and I won't let you down. I promise."

Snoke hums. "We'll see about that, Mister Solo."

← × →

The Skywalker Manor is modest, and by all rights, it should not be called a manor. It is near enough to visit with the neighbors, and small enough that a family still feels like a family, even when spread out amongst the various offices held within. Neither should it retain the Skywalker name, for no Skywalkers any longer remain housed within its walls. Its current owner is a Solo, and her given name is Leia. She is the daughter of the only Skywalker to own the manor — Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin Skywalker ordered the construction of the house approximately five years after the birth of his twin children, Luke and Leia. After Luke's venture into hermitage and Anakin's untimely death at age fifty-six, Leia inherited the property. It has always suited her well, to be sure, for she inherited many things from her father, most especially his wit.

Leia, like her father before her, had no troubles in attaining mastery in a subject of interest. From childhood, she could be found with her nose in a book and a pen in hand. Now, nearing fifty years of age, her name may more often be found printed on the covers of books than scrawled on a label on the inside.

It's a trait shared by her husband, as well, though he is still more prone to measure his adventures by the footstep than by the word. Even with an ever-aching back and greying hair, Han remains an explorer, yearning for new grounds, and with them, new knowledge and new understanding. He is known to travel anywhere he desires, no matter the risk.

But there is one place Han Solo will not go.

On the Naboo moon of Onoam, planted on the south face of Mount Veltha, nearly a week's trek up from the nearest tamed land, sits Atrius's Lookout — a large, jutting piece of rock covered in jungle. The jungle stretches on for miles and miles, thick and tall, and the nearest landing area for any aircraft is three villages down, weeks away on foot. It is not the journey there, however, that would turn Han Solo away from a grand adventure, but Atrius's Bane.

The plant is so rare that many believe it does not exist. Those who do believe in its existence imagine it to have all manner of restorative properties. Those who know the facts of its existence understand the dangers of its poison. It is a bane, after all.

Rashes, fever, nerve pain, delusions — those the symptoms one experiences as the plant's poison degrades the body, the same symptoms that presented in Anakin Skywalker in the years leading up to his death.

Anakin had devoted himself to Atrius's Bane as his mentor before him had. He spent much of his career visiting the plant in its natural habitat and bringing home specimens to study and catalogue. It made him very sick, and he died in the tiny village of Semper Sol, the closest settlement to Atrius's Lookout, leaving behind an office full of knowledge.

This office is where a young Ben Solo, son of Leia and Han, would spend time with his grandfather before his death, where he would read and read for hours on end, where he would study pencil drawings obsessively until the need to recreate the symmetry of nature took a hold of his hand and put it to paper.

Now an adult, Ben still pores over his grandfather's work, studying it carefully and mimicking what he can to hone his skill with a pencil. The lure of Atrius's Bane has not escaped him, and though he acknowledges the dangers, his parents still do not approve.

"That poison made him delusional, Ben. You know that."

"I know," Ben sighs at his father, exasperated. This conversation has sprawled itself out over months, ever since Snoke approached him for information, and he's tired of it. "I'll be safe around it, though. I won't—"

His mother crosses her arms, and that's enough to silence him. She's a strong figure, stronger still when it comes to Ben, and he knows there's nothing he can do but sit in his chair at the breakfast table and listen as she speaks.

"That's not the point. It's still a worry, naturally, but my main concern is that this particular venture will be fruitless." Her expression is flat, and her words are firm. "You don't know, factually, if there is any benefit to finding this plant."

"Maybe I don't care for your concerns," Ben mutters quietly, frowning.

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs and repeats himself. "I said that maybe I don't care for your concerns."

Behind Leia, Han gives him a look of disbelief. She sets her mouth in a tight, thin line. "Why don't you enlighten me as to why my opinion no longer matters to you, then."

"Because you've always been so dismissive of granddad's work," Ben answers easily, looking down at the table so he doesn't have to see their reactions. "You act like his delusions made up his entire world, like all the good discoveries he made are null and void just because _some _things _might _have been made up. I've put more effort into preserving his work than you ever have, and I—"

"That's a lie," Leia interjects. "I've spent a lot of money on him and his things, on keeping this estate intact, and you haven't."

"You don't set foot in his study!"

The kitchen is silent for a few seconds following his brief outburst.

"You never spend any time there," Ben continues. "You don't appreciate his work; you never have. I'm the only one who physically maintains his things, including the entire greenhouse."

"Just because I don't spend time around my late father's things does not mean I don't appreciate the work he's done." She stares Ben down for a few long seconds. "I loved him, Ben. Being around his things is upsetting for me because it reminds me that he was very sick for a very long time. You would do well to remember that, too."

Ben huffs. "You don't think we owe it to him to prove that he was right?"

"I think we owe it to him not to drag his name any further by funneling more money into dead ends," she snaps. "Quit wasting your time. Get a job."

"This is a job."

With a shake of her head, she clicks her tongue. "It's not a real job. It's a sinkhole, and an awfully expensive one. You know we won't give you any money to make this trip. I won't condone it, especially not on my father's name."

He shrugs dismissively. "I don't need money. I already have a sponsor."

"Who?" Han asks. "That Snoke fellow?"

Ben stays quiet, chewing his lip. They've never liked him.

"You can't accept money from him, Ben. You barely know him. No one knows him! He has no credentials, he's—"

"He recognizes my talent more than you two do," Ben scoffs. "You want me to get a job, and this is one."

His father balks. "This is about us? You think we don't support you enough?"

Ben doesn't say anything.

His mother scowls. "Did he give you that idea? That we don't support you?"

His parents should look sad; instead, they look angry.

He shrugs. "You gave me that idea yourselves," he mumbles. "But it's okay because I have this job now, and you don't need to be involved. It's all taken care of. If I fail, I'll just come back home."

"But will you?" Han asks. When Ben looks up at him, he shakes his head. "It's not safe for you to follow this man up a mountain. You've never made this kind of trip before."

"If Snoke can make it, I can make it. I'm not unhealthy or weak."

Without another word, Leia leaves the kitchen and doesn't look back.

Han sighs, waiting for the sound of the back door opening and closing before speaking. "Your grandfather died up there, Ben. This is serious."

He frowns, shrugging once before nodding more decisively. "I know. That's exactly why I want to go. He can't have died for nothing."

Gritting his teeth, his father chuckles. "You really believe in this, don't you?"

Ben nods.

"Belief is good; it makes you strong." Han pulls a chair out from the table and flips it around, sitting in it backwards to rest his arms on the chairback. It puts him on a level with Ben. "It makes you stupid, too. You know that."

"We can't do anything worthwhile if we don't believe in it. You taught me that."

"Yeah, I guess I did, huh?" Han smirks bitterly. "But look, kid. Your mom is worried, and she's worried for a few pretty good reasons."

He sighs, half-rolling his eyes.

"She loves you. She just doesn't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not going to—"

"That's what you say, but no one knows when something bad is going to happen until it happens. Every adventure comes with a risk. And this one," he sighs, "you know not everyone involved in this sorts of excursions are good people. Good or bad has nothing to do with it. Just because people are willing to work with you does not mean they want the same outcome as you; they only want the same treasure. Snoke is no different, nor is anyone else who might be going with you. You understand?"

"I understand that, and I—"

"And you're being sponsored as an illustrator, which is a big lie. As Anakin's grandson, you hold all the keys to finding, handling, and utilizing this plant, and that's the only reason you're going. This is why your mother and I would prefer you get a job in your field — properly. Are you even getting paid?"

"I'm getting sponsored, which is all I'm getting from you and mom anyway. And I can't a normal job doing what I'm doing," Ben insists. "You know that. I'm just an artist. You've reminded me of that ever since I first put my fingers in paint." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I have to go."

"Are you sure?" Han asks. "I can talk to the department chair tomorrow, put in a word, maybe find something they need done. They're always rotating jobs. They might have something for you."

Ben hums. He's always gotten these short-term offers through his father, and they never pay. "I wish it were that easy, but it's not. Besides, this is what I _want_ to do. I want to go up on that mountain. I want to preserve what notes we have in granddad's office and more. But since you won't enable me to do it, I have to leave with Snoke. I just have to. There's no changing my mind."

Han sighs, standing from his chair and pushing it in. He waves a finger in Ben's direction. "This conversation isn't over."

← × →

Anakin Skywalker kept many journals. He kept daily journals about his work, daily journals about Leia, journals for each of the families of specimens in his greenhouse, and one large, thick, heavy journal on the properties of Atrius's Bane.

In addition to his writings, he made many illustrations. On most of the pages Ben pores through, sketches are inked into the margins, showing all parts of the plant, other plants it's related to, where it lives, what creatures it lives with, all its relationships, how to handle it, what can be done with it. He was very thorough, but Ben has always found the sketches to be somewhat lacking. That may be what sparked his desire to see this project through to completion.

The journals have all been digitized, but Ben still sits in the old office to flip through the pages on his datapad, placing and replacing bookmarks in key passages. As he gets through it, he keeps glancing up at the one complete portrait in his grandfather's office. It's a landscape, Atrius's Lookout.

Ben has no clue from what viewpoint the painting was conceived, but it's beautiful. It accents the office well and sets a fitting tone to the subject of Anakin's studies. What it doesn't show, however, is Atrius's Bane, and that has served as a mild frustration of his for years. It's the only piece he knows of that was made for beauty rather than practicality. It doesn't show well in digital images, and there's no need for it anywhere on the wall, so it's also the only thing Ben hasn't loaded onto datapad. He'll miss it when he leaves, but he comforts himself in settling to paint another to hang alongside it.

What that means, of course, is that he'll have to roll up some canvas and bring it along. The time to pack is now.

Finished with the bookmarking, he tucks away his datapad and leaves the office, casting one last glance at the landscape on the wall before softly shutting the door behind him. With heavy steps, he crosses the house and goes into his room.

He'll need to carry all of his personal effects on his own, according to Snoke. Thankfully, he has his grandfather's note to guide him. He takes his travel bag from the closet and lays it out on the bed.

Three sets of clothing that can be worn as layers, not more than can be carried in the hands. Extra socks. The climate is warm at lower elevations and cold at higher elevations, but it is always wet.

Hygiene, enough to be healthy, not to be polite. Washing powder fit for both the body and what's worn on it. No need for grooming. Ben packs his razor anyway.

Bedding, enough to thwart the rain. There may not always be space for the whole party to sleep under the same shelter. 

One bowl, one water purifier, one knife. Ben snags such from the kitchen.

Amphetamines for the later legs of the trip. Ben has no idea about those, and in his privileged pettiness, he does not once consider using drugs.

A locked case for valuables, specimen collection kit, waterproofed bag for recording equipment. Ben takes each of these from Anakin's office, putting his datapad in the locking case and his art supplies in the bag. The extra canvases make for a tight fit, but he won't leave anything behind.

Busy packing everything up, he doesn't hear the knock on the open door behind him.

"Hey, kid."

Ben's hands freeze on the bag. "If you're coming in here to talk me out of it, it's far too late."

His dad chuckles, and Ben turns around to look at him. He's leaning up against the doorjamb and playing with something in his hands.

"Well then, what are you here for?" Ben asks.

Han sighs and opens his hands, reaching out to hand something over to Ben. "To give you this."

It's a compass, a brass one. Ben recognizes it as the one his father takes with him every trip, the lucky one, and he takes it from him. It's heavy in his palm, thrumming with its strong magnetism. "I think there's already a navigator for this trip," he mumbles, "but thank you."

His father shakes his head. "It won't help you find your way up that mountain. It doesn't point north or anything like that."

Ben frowns. "It doesn't point— What good is a compass that doesn't work?" He looks down at the compass, turning it this way and that. The needle just wobbles in all directions. "You take this broken thing with you? For what?"

Han shrugs. "Your mother's father gave it to me when you were born. He took it with him on all of his expeditions before that. It's a special thing; just because it doesn't point north doesn't mean it's broken."

"What does it point toward, then?" he asks, looking back up at his father.

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Home."

Ben falters, confused. Before he can ask exactly what that means, his father takes a step forward and taps a finger on the brass compass.

"Underneath that needle is a crystal, a pure white one. Your grandfather mined it himself to make that compass."

_A white crystal_, Ben thinks, vaguely remembering some mentions of crystals in his grandfather's notes.

"You know all that mumbo-jumbo he was on about later in life?" his father mumbles. "The spiritual stuff?"

"Atrius's Bane, you mean," Ben fills in, "and its connection to life. It wasn't _mumbo-jumbo_."

Han sighs. "Well, whether it was or not, your grandfather might have been onto something because that crystal in that compass," he taps it again, "has never failed me. He called it kyber, or whatever, and it works. If you ever need to know the way home, it will show you."

Ben remembers more clearly now, one passage on the kyber crystal was penned in Anakin's notebook, but that always stood out as more of an oddity with little connection to the rest. He'll have to give it another glance to find out what it really means when he has the time. 

His father claps a hand on his shoulder. "Now keep that thing with you and don't let it get stolen, you hear me?"

Ben nods. "I hear you. Thanks, Dad."

His father nods and smiles. "Remember to come home in one piece, or your mom will hike up there and kill you herself. I hope you find what it is you're looking for."

"Me, too." He pockets the compass, figuring it's best to keep it on his person, and watches his father leave the room before he finishes packing his things. He has quite the journey ahead of him.

His palm can still feel the phantom buzzing weight of it.

← × →

"Hurry up!"

Snoke's barking does nothing to help Ben lug both of their bags up the long set of stone stairs, but it helps to set his mind to the task. He heaves a deep breath, short in the humid air, and pulls himself and the heavy load up each step, following carefully behind the old man. Perhaps Snoke shouldn't be making such a trip without a second assistant to help him with his things, he thinks, but Ben isn't so weak that he can't do it himself. He only stumbles once.

Snoke pauses a few steps above him, casting down a pitying glace, and scoffs. "If I had known you had such weak ankles, I would not have brought you along. There are plenty of others who would like the money."

"I don't have weak ankles," Ben grumbles, though he knows his ought not. He bites his tongue before he can gripe about the money, which he neither needs nor is directly receiving. Snoke has never responded kindly to his less polite moments, even with such stress as an excuse.

Thankfully, Mister Snoke overlooks the backtalk in favor of his primary complaint. "Then prove it, Mister Solo, and hurry. It is late, and I would like to be well-rested before we head out in the morning." Without another word, he turns back around and continues climbing the staircase up to the village of Velthym.

With a sigh, Ben pushes on.

He's tired, placed under a great deal more stress than usual. He has never ventured off of Naboo before, never needed to, and though this moon is close and directly orbiting his home, it feels so far away that he might as well have crossed the galaxy. The shuttle rides, carting him from station to station, planet to moon, and station to mountainside, were long and uncomfortable. The artificial gravity made him sick, and the cold metal made his head hurt. The effects of that day full of travel linger in him, and he can only hope they'll vanish by sunrise.

When they reach the top of the steps, Ben notes the welcome signs posted on either side of the landing — Village of Velthym, Gateway to Point Veltha. Snoke walks right through, apparently heading straight toward their arranged lodging. Ben shifts of the weight of the luggage and follows him down the quiet streets.

Velthym doesn't look like any place Ben has seen on Naboo, though he isn't exactly well-travelled there, either. The surrounding trees are tall and heavy, containing the village and blocking out the stars. He had seen sketches of them in his grandfather's notebooks, but underestimated their height and the size of their broad leaves.

In the light from the scattered streetlamps, the buildings look older, more run down and weathered, built in to grow and age with nature rather than against it. No paint can be seen anywhere except on signage, and the structures, sparsely placed, are constructed from wood. There likely aren't many people living here to maintain the village. It is quaint, he decides, and not much more.

After passing a dozen or so houses and strolling a couple blocks through the village center, Snoke makes a turn down a narrow alley between two shops. On the other side, Ben can make out a bright light and human voices.

The alley opens up to reveal a courtyard. The bright light is a large fire, and the voices are coming from a gaggle of scruffy men sitting around it, drinking and laughing and cursing away.

Snoke turns left immediately, walking up to a lit service desk, and Ben follows. It's empty, no person or droid waiting to help a customer. Instead, there is a bulletin board with mech keys and handwritten labels.

Snoke plucks two keys from it and hands one to Ben. "Bring my bag to my room, and lock yours up in your room. Those men out there are our travelling company, and you might do well to gain their acquaintance, but not to have your things stolen."

Ben pockets the key and turns back to look over his shoulder at the men around the fire, seeing that one is already walking this way, eyes on Snoke. "Um, Mister Snoke?"

"Mister Peavey," Snoke says as he approaches. "Good evening, sir."

"Good evening, Mister Snoke," the strange man, Peavey, greets gruffly. It's hard to tell with his face in shadow, but like Snoke, he also looks older than advisable for this trip. His facial features are heavy, permanently scowling, and he looks sincere only when voicing his derision. "Good of you to finally show. We were waiting for your safe arrival."

Snoke hums non-committedly and turns away, walking down toward a wall with a row of doors. "Yes, the trip took all day, but one day is better than two."

"Of course," Peavey acknowledges. "Still, I would like to talk with you tonight about our plan."

They reach a door labeled with the number six, and Snoke opens it and walks in, followed by Peavey. "We will do so now."

Ben follows in behind them, lowering Snoke's pack to the floor to the side of the entrance. "Is there anything else you want me to do for you, Mister Snoke?"

"Leave."

The command didn't come from Snoke, but from the new man, Peavey. Ben turns to look at Snoke for a seconding of the order.

"Leave," Snoke echoes.

Ben nods once and walks out the door, pulling his key out of his pocket to note the number on it. Twelve.

Hauling his bag down to his door, he opens it and walks into the room. Judging by the light of the bonfire, the room is small, identical to Snoke's, and there is little to explore except for what sort of mattress lies under the thin sheets. He finds a lamp by the bed and turns it on, leaving light for him to come back to, and sets his bag down by the bed.

Peeking outside, he eyes the men who are hanging around by the fire. There are six, by his count, and accounting for himself, Snoke, and Peavey, that would seem to add for a total of nine travellers. 

It may simply by the ruggedness of them, but they all look better versed in jungled excursions than Ben feels he is. Their clothing is sturdy, their posture is relaxed, and several are already sporting more hair than anyone on Naboo would consider neat. They are outgoing, too, or _communicative_, as his mother might call it.

Three are especially rambunctious, and two are peaceful but not uninvolved, leaving one man sitting alone, seemingly quiet, with his head bent low.

That might be the best place to start making acquaintance, Ben thinks, seeing something bookish in the man that he doesn't see in the others. He steps outside his room and locks the door behind him.

The light of the fire, he sees as he gets closer, reflects quite clearly in the man's hair, but he doesn't look up at Ben's approach. His hands are busy with something in his lap.

Ben swallows before speaking. "Hello."

The man keeps working and keeps looking down.

"You're part of the company on the expedition to Atrius's Lookout, aren't you?" Ben tries, wringing his hands behind his back. "So am I. I'm Ben Solo."

The man's hands pause, and Ben can see more clearly what he's got in them. It's not a book, but a blaster. After a beat, the man looks up. He is clean-shaven, fair-skinned, and rather mousy with his small features. He doesn't look overly cruel by his face, but the blaster says otherwise.

"What's your na—"

The man cuts him off with a sneer. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can help you with, Ben Solo." With nothing else to say, apparently, he goes back to cleaning his blaster.

Taken aback by his brusque interruption, Ben frowns. "Will you tell me your name, at least?"

"No."

All right, then. Ben casts a look over at the others and wonders if he made the wrong choice by approaching the loner, but seeing their sharky grins and hearing their devious cackles, he worries that this quiet man might be the most polite.

"You can stop standing over me any time you like," the man warns, looking back up at him and baring his teeth. "Go on. It's bedtime for you, pretty boy. Wouldn't want your expensive skin to sallow, now would we?"

Ben gawps openly, taking a step back. No one has ever spoken to him this way. "What's wrong with you?"

Teeth still bared, he smiles sickly. "The list would keep you up too late. If you know what's good for you, don't talk to me again. Goodnight."

Not needing to be told again, Ben immediately turns and retreats to his room.

The man might be nicer after a night's rest, he hopes, or maybe the rest of the company won't be drunk and aggressive. It'll be light out, however light it gets under these trees, and they will have miles to cover. There won't be time for disrespect.

He readies for bed quickly and settles in. It's not comfortable, of course, but it's a bed, which is more than he'll get on the hike.

Before turning off the lamp, he reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the compass his father gave him, opening it up to watch the needle sway and settle. Some sort of…magic, or whatever his grandfather might have called it, pulls it in a single direction. Home. He can't go back now, he's only just gotten started, but he's more ready than ever to find Atrius's Bane as fast as he can. Only after that, no matter how long it takes, will he go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the artwork can be [reblogged from niibeth's tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com/post/188883424338/obey) and [retweeted from her twitter](https://twitter.com/Kortesku/status/1192501536259227658).
> 
> My [twitter](https://twitter.com/nymeriaking) is locked, but you are welcome to request to follow if you want to chat. Thank you in advance for your lovely comments! I've had a lot of fun writing this!


	2. On the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can [reblog niibeth's art on tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com/post/188930723748/search) and [retweet it on twitter](https://twitter.com/Kortesku/status/1193237452581982212)!

Ben is not asleep when the knock sounds at his door in the morning. He's in limbo, somewhere between awake and asleep, and has been since he first put his head down to rest for the night.

He yawns, long and wide, and stretches his arms out above his head, groaning at the knots in his shoulders. The mattress had proven itself less and less comfortable with each hour, combining with the anxiety of the trip to tense his muscles and leave him sore all over.

Another knock sounds out, and he lifts himself out of bed to pull on a shirt and answer it. When the door opens, a young man with blond hair and bright eyes is standing there, bowls balanced precariously in his arms.

He shoves one bowl into Ben's chest. "Breakfast," he lisps, and Ben grabs the bowl from him. "We're leaving in half an hour, but Master Peavey would like to gather everyone for a briefing before we head out, so we ask that you be ready and waiting in the courtyard in fifteen minutes."

"O-okay," Ben mutters, nodding. He glances out at the courtyard behind him, seeing Snoke, Peavey, and one other man already out there, then looks back to the man with the bowls. "Thanks, um…"

"Thannison," he answers, then turns and leaves, presumably taking a bowl to each room.

With a tired sigh, Ben takes a long look at what's in his bowl. It's tan in color, not soup but not dry, and he's not sure he's seen something so lumpy before. The spoon stuck in it stands up on its own instead of resting against the rim, so whatever this food is, it must be thick. He closes his door and takes a seat on the bed before grabbing the spoon and taking a bite.

Rations, it must be. He has a tough time swallowing it down, not for the taste, for there is little, but for the texture. It feels gritty and gelatinous, like something reconstituted after being dried and ground up. It's faintly sweet, so faint that it may just be a hope; it does little to cover up the mineral taste of the added vitamins.

But this is all he has to eat this morning, and it's likely it will be all he has to eat for next month or two, since he's relying on Snoke's spending, so he closes his eyes and shoves another spoonful into his mouth. It doesn't go down easily, but eventually, the bowl is left empty, and his stomach is full.

With breakfast finished, he quickly dresses and double-checks the contents of his travel pack. Finding everything to be in order, he pockets the lucky compass and shoulders his pack, leaving the room and returning the key to the desk at which he got it.

A handful of people are already out at the center of the courtyard, more than he saw when he first got up, now including the rude redhead from the night before. Avoiding him, Ben hangs back at the edge on the other side, where Snoke and Peavey and talking in tones too low to hear.

He surveys the group, finally able to see everyone properly in the brighter light of day. It's still not as light he's used to on Naboo, but it's enough to see by.

The man talking with Snoke and Peavey looks rough indeed, thin and slimy and scarred, but not as old as either of them. His father's age, perhaps, but he's too roughed up to tell. Near to them, the young blond, Thannison, is talking closely with another very young man with darker features. They look younger than Ben is, perhaps too young to be on the trip, but he figures they must be here for a reason.

Across the firepit, the redhead is brooding next to a very tall woman, blonde and muscular, also carrying a blaster on her hip. Ben doesn't remember seeing her the night before, but with the ninth member strolling up, he figures she must complete the party. She looks nice enough, but Ben already made the mistake of talking to the redhead at her side, so he decides to leave her well enough alone.

The ninth member is a man of reasonable stature but not entirely reasonable clothing. It's practical, to be sure, but not well-fitted or properly secured. His buttons are undone, and his jacket flaps about as he walks. He does not look like any proper explorer Ben's ever seen before. When he reaches the loosely gathered group, Snoke's conversation breaks apart, and Peavey turns to address them.

"Good morning, all," he says shortly, face stern. "I see here there are nine of us here now, and I expect all nine of us to make it all the way up to our destination without issue. With the exception of a few, we will all be forced to carry our own weight.

"Thannison," he points over to him, "will be taking care of all logistics for us, so I expect everyone to treat him with respect, or he may not book your lodging for you when we reach accommodation. His spider droid there, S1-DR, will carry the bags of those who scout, as well as mine and Mister Snoke's, for our age, and that is all. Only two people will scout for the expedition at a time to clear any growth in our path, and new scouters will be selected each morning.

"Mitaka," he introduces next, gesturing to the one next to Thannison, "is the navigator, and he will be leading us up to Baxt, Semper Sol, and then Atrius's Lookout to find Atrius's Bane. Do ensure nothing happens to him, please. I would hate to be forced to leave anyone behind as punishment, but none of the rest of you are indispensable."

Peavey crosses his arms and looks at each member of the company in turn, gaze landing on Ben's last. He points a finger directly at him, sending a jolt to his chest. "Ben Solo is important, too. His grandfather did more research than anyone else in the known galaxy. He has knowledge about our search that the rest of us don't."

Ben swallows nervously and shifts in place, looking down at the ground to avoid the stares of everyone else.

"But he's not as important as Mitaka, so don't worry about him as much," Peavey finishes, apparently moving on. "If I haven't mentioned your name, you're not important." He points to the redhead and the woman. "You and you, you're scouting first. Give your packs to S8-DR and pick up some machetes — you'll need them. The rest of you, follow them."

Without a word, the chosen two do as they're told, and everyone else follows them out of the village and onto an overgrown road.

Ben digs a hand into his pocket and rubs his thumb over the face of the compass. He doesn't look at it, though, doesn't need to, and leaves it inside. Until he's at Atrius's Lookout, the way is forward.

← × →

The first day is not completely miserable, but it's definitely close to it.

They hike over a stone road instead of soft, wet earth, and it leaves Ben's feet and back aching worse than he's ever felt. On the bright side, there was little foliage to cut away but plenty to admire. 

He's sure he's seen a rendering of every one of these plants in his grandfather's study at some point, and a few of them are definitely growing in the greenhouse. They're all deeply saturated, flat- and wide-leaved, and aromatic. Some grow tall, and some cover the ground, but all of them are interesting enough that he wanted to stop and study their growth in this natural habitat.

But he couldn't stop. The road is too well-travelled this far down the mountain, so the company moved quickly and covered click after click even before lunch.

And again, lunch was the goopy, sloppy rations they'd had that morning.

Then they moved on and on and on, constantly walking until it began to grow too dark to see.

They stop, eat again quickly, and pitch their tents to settle in for the night.

Ben doesn't speak to anyone; he just wants to sleep.

← × →

When Ben wakes, he's much more sore than the morning before. His shoulders are twice as tense, his back is bruised, his feet and legs are still pounding, and the sounds of the jungle are too loud and unfamiliar. The other members of the company were no comfort either. Some stayed up to talk, and the presence of some others simply kept him on edge. In short, he feels like shit.

He stretches before rising and exiting the small tent. To his dismay, it's no longer as dry as it was when they settled in. A heavy mist is on the air, and his skin immediately beads with water. He dons his jacket quickly and swipes his wet hair out of his face. 

A few of the others are also up, and Thannison soon brings him breakfast before returning to Mitaka's side.

As Ben eats, the woman who spent the first day scouting approaches him.

"Hey," she says, and her voice is softer than he imagined it would be. Maybe she is nicer than the redhead, but again, he won't assume. She sits on the ground next to him. "You look tired."

Ben hums. "Good morning," he huffs, indignant. What kind of first words are those? And especially in the morning? Why wouldn't he look tired? He's not petty enough to return the observation, but she looks tired, too.

"My name is Phasma." She holds a hand out at him, keeping it there. Even after several seconds pass, she doesn't move it.

"What are you doing with your hand?" he asks.

She laughs loudly, too loud for the quiet of nature, but doesn't retract her hand. "I want you to shake it."

He blinks. "What will happen if I shake it?"

She laughs again. "Nothing, I suppose. Just do it."

Tentatively, he reaches a hand toward hers. "I'm not sure why you need me to shake it if shaking it doesn't do anything, but," he trails off, grasping her wrist.

"Oh, goodness," she gasps, laughing again as he shakes her hand gently. 

He lets go, frowning. "What did I do wrong?"

"Don't worry about it. What you did was, uh, wonderful. Thank you." She's smiling, but it doesn't look like one of the genuine ones. "You're Ben Solo, Anakin Skywalker's grandson."

He nods. "I am."

"And you don't have any friends here yet, do you?"

He shakes his head. "No," he mumbles. "I'm just here to find Atrius's Bane so it can be properly cultivated. I'm not really—"

She dismisses him with a wave. "I saw that you didn't talk to anyone yesterday, so I figured I might as well introduce you, or at least tell you about, everyone else here. I'm not friends with everybody, but I know who they all are."

She sounds like his godmother, more political than she'd admit, and Ben sits up straighter, wary.

"I can give you the rundown quickly, if you're in a hurry to get a headstart," she says, brows raising and eyes flitting over his shoulders and his pack. She's studying him clearly, judgmentally. "Names, why they're here, what they're like. I'll start with me."

Ben doesn't have anywhere else to be, as she pointed out, and he nods slowly and settles back down.

"Great," she cheers, smiling like a shark. Her teeth are unnaturally white. "I'm Phasma, and I'm here with Kaplan. He's the mean, skinny one with lots of scars. He's here under orders from his boss to get a few specimens, and he hired me and Armitage to come with him and keep everyone out of trouble. Armitage is the redhead who can't play nice. He's good with a blaster, though, so don't try to force him into a conversation, or he might actually shoot you."

Ben grimaces, nodding along.

"He is my friend, and my friend only," she whispers. "We have a bond, of sorts, from childhood. If you see anything lying around with an H on it, don't pick it up. Just tell him it's his, and he'll get it. He's awfully paranoid."

"An H?" Ben asks.

"His last initial," Phasma clarifies. "He doesn't have a family name. Neither do I, for that matter. Long story. Anyway…" Phasma points over to Thannison and Mitaka. "Those two belong to Peavey; don't be fooled by the lack of chains. They are very nice conversationalists, but they are also trained killers, so don't underestimate them. The weird one you might have noticed is Canady. He's just a little pussy, almost as harmless as you are, but he's a snake and a smuggler. Don't trust him with your things, or he might steal them."

He hums, biting a lip and looking around. "What about Peavey? I don't really know anything about him, but Snoke talks to him a lot. I've never seen him before."

"What is Snoke like?" she asks in return.

"Snoke?"

She nods. "I never met him before you two arrived at Velthym either. Do you know him well? I understand he's the one sponsoring you."

"Oh, um, yeah. I think I know him well enough." He shrugs, thinking. "He's a collector. He has a house of items on Naboo, and a warehouse on Ilum."

She hums, brow quirked. "What does he collect? Vintage things? New things? People?"

He blinks. "People?"

"Peavey does it."

"No," he huffs, shaking his head. "No. No people. Just…stuff. Lots of stuff, all kinds of things. Um." He thinks back to Snoke's office, the hallways leading there, his front entryway. "Special things, I guess, artifacts like rare art, foreign medicine, unique specimens, all that. And books, lots and lots of books, both physical and digital."

"Books on what?"

He shrugs. "Anything? I'm not sure; I haven't read them."

Phasma shrugs back. "All right, then. Peavey's boring. He just finds people and takes them, either selling them or keeping them, depending on how valuable they are."

"Is that all he does?" he asks. "He just…kidnaps people?"

"And tortures them, of course. People aren't just born slaves. Even babies need a whipping." She smiles softly. "You're lucky you're as old as you are, otherwise you look like his type."

Ben hates to ask. "His type?"

"Round eyes, baby cheeks." She gestures to his shoulders. "You look strong but like you don't know how to use it. Everyone loves a bantha that won't fight back — nice and useful. But I think you're old enough and smart enough to fight back."

"What about…?" He doesn't finish the question aloud, instead casting a glance over to Thannison and Mitaka. They look like adults, and they're smart enough to organize and guide the expedition up Mount Veltha.

She follows his gaze over to the two, watching them as they organize their effects. "They were kids when he picked them up. That's why they're still with him. And he treats them nicely enough; I guess they don't really have much reason to fight back if they don't know any better. They're like a family, albeit a sick one."

"Sick," he mumbles, swallowing. He's never seen a slave before these two, at least not any that he knows of, but if they're happy…

"Mhm, if you think Peavey doesn't use them for absolutely anything, you'd be wrong."

Confused, he looks at her grimace, then back at them. No longer working on their packs, they're closer to each other now, sharing food. He's seen people do that before, but then Thannison takes Mitaka's hand in his, and that's not a gesture he's used to seeing people perform in front of others. But Phasma said that Peavey uses them?

His stomach sinks, churning a little at the thought. Thannison and Mitaka look sweet together, but Peavey is not sweet.

"Shame," he sighs, turning away from them. "I wish you hadn't told me that."

"I wish I didn't know about it in the first place," Phasma concurs. "But it is what it is, and there's nothing anyone can do about it, lest Peavey cut off your head."

He wants to question that, too, but he's afraid that such a thing must already have happened for her to think of it off the top of her head like that.

"Ah," she says suddenly, rising from her seat. "Looks like the beast is up." Without another word, she stalks off across the camp, making her way over to the rude redhead who is already glaring at him.

Feeling the heat of his stare, Ben gets up and starts packing his things, preparing himself physically as well as mentally for the day's hike.

← × →

The second day's hike passes much like the first. Ben talks to no one, has very little time to stop and study things in much detail, and is too tired and uncomfortable to rest well. He stares at the compass until he falls asleep.

The third day is no different.

Neither is the fourth.

← × →

On the fifth day, the company finally begins to struggle. Kanady constantly bitches at Caplan. Peavey snaps at everyone. Snoke doesn't say a word. Perhaps it's because everyone is tired, or maybe it's because the plant growth becomes too much.

It might be because Ben is assigned to scout ahead with Armitage.

"Would you _please_ stop staring at that vine and just cut it already?"

Ben frowns, running a gloved finger over the stem of a leaf and watching its hairs wiggle. "No, I'm trying to find where—"

The vine is sliced in two before his very eyes. "This is too many times to count, now, and I'm getting awfully sick of you."

He balks. "What is your problem?"

"What's _your_ problem?" Armitage sneers, shouldering past him. He's nearly of a height with Ben but much thinner, so Ben hadn't expected as much strength as he receives from the nudge. Even through the man's padded jacket, his boniness smarts. "I'm not the only scout today, so I shouldn't be doing all the work. Swing that damn machete and help me get us through here. I can barely see any sign of the road."

Ben stands and glares at his back while he cuts down all sorts of life and pushes it out of his way. He has no respect for any of it, and it's sickening. "At least cut right below the node at a forty-five degree angle!"

Armitage pauses and turns around, brow furrowed. From such proximity, the hardness in his eyes is strong. He leans in toward Ben, crowding him. "What?"

"Cut right below the node," he repeats quietly, trying not to breathe on the other man. "That's where the leaves grow from. And do it at a forty-five degree angle, then take off the leaves near the cut so it can grow again. Otherwise, you're just killing half the plant."

He blinks slowly. "Do I look like I care about whether half a plant lives or dies?"

Ben rolls his eyes and opens his mouth before a sharp poke at his chest stops him.

"I don't particularly care whether a _person _lives or dies, Mister Solo, so I suggest you stop telling me what to do and start helping me kill these plants." Armitage lingers for an extra second, then pulls the machete away from his chest and stalks back over to the path he's been clearing, swiping hard at some outstretched limbs and cutting them down. 

Rubbing his hand over the spot on his chest, Ben slowly makes his way up to Armitage and starts helping him, though he's much more mindful than the other of where the plants are cut.

← × →

That night, after lots of walking and climbing and cutting, Ben is called over to Snoke's tent.

"I noticed your interest in the flora today," Snoke rasps, ducking under the cover as he leads the way in. It's taller than most of the others, but they still must stay low to keep from brushing the top. If the tent were any higher, they wouldn't have been able to cut away enough of the canopy to fit it. "You seem to be rather curious about what is growing around us."

Ben follows him, kneeling on the covered floor when Snoke gestures for him to. His datapad is in his back pocket, so he removes it before sitting, holding it in his lap instead. "I am curious, Mister Snoke," he answers once settled. "Some of these, I've only seen in pictures. Our greenhouse is very limited on space."

Snoke hums, lowering himself onto a stool close to Ben. The size of the tent, especially with much of it taken up by the sleeping mat, forces them into close proximity. "Of course, of course. And do you find this journey so far to be satisfying?"

He thinks on it for a moment. They haven't even reached Baxt yet, and it's been nearly a week. The moisture in the air is soaking into their clothes more easily, and the terrain is getting more difficult to pass. Each day's hike is harder than the last, but it's also giving him more time to examine his surroundings. He hasn't had time to catalogue what he's seen so far, though.

"It's been all right so far, I suppose," he decides, "but I think it will be more satisfying as we get closer and especially when we reach the Lookout. Once we've found the Bane, I think that's when I'll be satisfied. Until then, everything else is just consolation." He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "I could do without the rudeness of some people here, to be sure."

Snoke grins and leans in, baring his teeth as he pats Ben's knee. "Antagonistic, are we? You can't be helped? No one is being rude to you, but I do think everyone will be more satisfied once you've stepped up to help us reach our goal. Please take care not to distract yourself along the way because all it does is slow us down." He stares Ben in the eye for a while, grin fading. "I enjoy your enthusiasm about the little things you find on our path, but they are not why you're here."

He nods. "I understand, sir."

"Do you?" Snoke is still deep in his personal space, face too close and hand still heavy on his knee. He encroaches even more with a gesture to the datapad in his lap. "Your grandfather was very focused in his work. But you," he shakes his head, "you are easily distracted, nothing like your father or grandfather. You are not a researcher nor an explorer by any stretch. You are no more than a child out here, with plenty of potential but no idea how to use it. Do you need me to guide you, to teach you how to focus so that we can reach acclaim together?"

Ben is inclined to disagree, of course, but he knows that's exactly what Snoke means by calling him a child. He is an artist, and that's all. He copies what he sees, follows whatever looks pretty, and has no goals to call his own — cultivating Atrius's Bane is only a goal borrowed from his grandfather, in truth. He nods. "Yes, Mister Snoke," he murmurs.

Snoke smiles, and his hand clenches, fingers digging into the soft flesh on the inside of Ben's thigh. The grip feels like ice, sending a shudder through him. "Good. It would not do you well not to recognize your faults. You may come from the same stock as Anakin Skywalker, but you are not him. You are relying on borrowed dedication to get by."

Nodding again, he sighs. "I am. I would die out here if it weren't for you, Mister Snoke. Thank you for bringing me along, for taking care of me."

"I am glad to help. While you are certainly not meant to be a great botanist, you are bound to be good for other things." His hand crawls further up Ben's thigh and squeezes it before being withdrawn, and Snoke sits up straight once more. "For now, I will allow you to entertain your fantasies with these little plants around us, but you will soon need to give that up, as the trek will become difficult. If you find yourself unable to focus on what's important, I implore you to seek me out so I can squash it."

"I will, Mister Snoke. Thank you."

With that, Ben rises from the ground and walks out of the tent, almost walking straight into Armitage.

The redhead's face twists into something between a grimace and a smirk, gloating in disgust. "You sicken me, Solo."

Ben scowls. "Why are you so rude to me?"

"Because you're a sorry waste of space," he spits, eyeing him up and down.

He huffs. "I know that, but you don't have to say it." He steps around Armitage and makes his way back over to his own tent. After the day he's had to spend at his side, cutting mindlessly through countless plants, he's ready to finally get his first good night's sleep and not look at Armitage again for days, until they're forced together again.

← × →

As it turns out, only one day goes by before Ben's forced to spend time with Armitage again.

"I am not supposed to be rooming with him," Ben hisses.

"I know," Thannison mumbles back, eyes round and mouth pouting, "but there's nothing I can do. Sorry."

He drags his hands over his face, refusing to look over at the doorway currently occupied by none other than Armitage. "And Snoke's room?"

"Mister Snoke has the funds for his own room, so that's the way I've booked it. It can't be changed."

Ben huffs, uncovering his face to plead with the logistician. "I know, but I don't want to share a room with Armitage."

"You don't want to share a room with Mister Snoke," Thannison insists quietly. "So you're rooming with Armitage. He's nice, I promise."

Ben falters for a second. "Who are you to say I don't want to room with Snoke?" The boy's mouth remains firmly shut, so he narrows his eyes. "You're with Peavey, and he's your—"

A knife appears in front of his face, thin and sharp. Thannison had hardly appeared to move in pulling the knife on him. "Don't finish that sentence."

Ben swallows.

"You're rooming with Armitage for all three nights, and that's that."

"Fine."

← × →

It goes about as well as anyone can expect.

The first night is silent. Ben and Armitage do their best to ignore each other, but from all the tossing and turning, it's clear to both of them that neither of them are sleeping.

Ben doesn't know what is keeping the other man awake, but for him, it's simply a matter of never having shared a room with anyone before.

At least, not with anyone he wasn't comfortable enough to lay with. Without that level of intimacy, he finds sharing this room to be rather uncomfortable. Not that he wouldn't, or that he would — the idea is out of the question, inconsiderable. Armitage is a stranger, no more, and Ben lies awake because of it.

The lack of sleep, as it turns out, does wonders for communication on the second night as they ready for bed once more. They're both too tired to refrain from asking stupid questions and providing stupid answers.

"Why don't you have a family name?" Ben asks, eyeing the _H _on his pack. There is room for more letters, and it's clear from the fraying that some have been there in the past, but it's not a fresh removal, so the forms of the old letters can't quite be made out without a closer look.

He should be focusing on the book of bound flimsy in front of him. He collected three unique flowers in the afternoon while Thannison was arranging to resupply the company, and he wants to catalogue them before they wilt. But he's tired, and his hand is clumsy with the stylus, and the bag is somehow more interesting than the flowers.

"Why the fuck would you ask me that?"

Startled, Ben looks up from the name patch on the pack.

Armitage isn't looking at him. He's sitting up on his bed, working on something in his lap, but he's turned to face the wall.

"I just thought—"

"Stop that," Armitage barks.

"Stop what?"

"Stop thinking; it obviously gets you nowhere. Keep making your little drawings and ignore me."

Ben blinks, frowning. "I'm sorry if I offended you. I was curious, that's all."

Finally, Armitage turns around to look at him. The item in his lap is a blaster — of course. "Do you really want to know why I don't have a family name?"

He nods.

"I killed my only family."

It doesn't quite register at first, so Ben doesn't react until Armitage reiterates.

"My birth killed my mother, and my knife killed my father. It usually takes a while for blood pressure to lower enough that a person's brain is no longer receiving oxygen, but my father was on prescription blood thinners, so it was pretty easy to fell him. I don't regret it, and I don't mind talking about it. I'm fairly proud of it, actually."

Ben doesn't say anything. He stares at Armitage, who stares right back. _Rude_, apparently, was not the correct word to be using to describe Armitage all this time. _Monster_, now that might be it.

"You asked."

He tries to nod, but the slightest tilt of the head threatens to make him sick. "Yes, I asked, but you didn't have to answer."

Armitage laughs, and it's too loud in the small room, too joyful to be real. "Why do you think people should shelter you from the truth, Solo? It's out there. It can't be ignored. We don't all owe you rainbows and candies and hugs and kisses. Get over yourself."

"I—," he chokes. "B-but, why?"

"Why get over yourself?"

"Why did you do it? Kill your father?" Ben shuts his eyes and lifts a hand to his head, trying to ease the dizziness and nausea. "I can't ever imagine—"

"No, you could _never _imagine, could you?" Armitage chuckles. He sounds dangerously bitter, and Ben has half a mind to leave the room before he's murdered, too. "You come from a good family, so you have no reason to kill any of them. Nor did you have any reason to leave."

He reels. "What do I ha—"

Armitage interrupts him with a shout. "You should go back home, Solo. There's no good reason for you to be here, getting all familiar with a man like Snoke. Leave."

He shakes his head, sputtering, confused. _No_, he thinks, but he can't seem to say anything aloud. Instead, he gets up from the bed, grabs his book, and walks out into the dark night.

He can't stay another night in that room with…a murderer. Not just a murderer, but a man who killed his own father. No, not even a man. Less than that/ It makes sense that Armitage could so easily carry around a blaster and a blade, killing anything he wants.

_He's heartless_, Ben thinks. _He must have been born that way_. He can't imagine a scenario that would turn a happy person so cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niibeth's [tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com) once again, and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nymeriaking).


	3. Little Fissures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can [reblog niibeth's art on tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com/post/188944067523/kill) and [retweet it on twitter](https://twitter.com/Kortesku/status/1193435704405168128)!

Atrius's Bane is beautiful. It grows tall, boasts thick fronds of the deepest blue-green, and glistens in direct sunlight.

Atrius's Bane is also rather poisonous. It can kill within hours of ingestion, or it can take its time to soak through the skin of the lungs. It may take a while, but through this method, it can kill a grown adult human after an extended period of illness of the body and the mind.

Ben thinks Armitage is like Atrius's Bane. He shouldn't, of course, for Atrius's Bane is objectively pleasing to look at, and Armitage is…

Ben sighs and turns the page, banishing the hastily sketched portrait in favor of a fresh page on which he'll depict the latest specimen of choice.

Armitage is, unfortunately, nice to look at. It makes Ben sick, but he can't change his response — some sort of fear or anxiety — to seeing Armitage in his dreams.

His face is best suited for bare, clean skin, but as the days go on and the weather gets colder and the hair starts to decorate his jawline, Ben finds himself to be more open-minded. He shouldn't be, of course, but it happens.

The dreams are not nice, however, no matter how lovely his image might appear, and it's such a waste. Even as his pretty face glows in the dreamy sunlight, he finds a way to kill Ben. He shoots him from far away, he shoots him from up close, and he drives a knife through his neck. It never feels good when it happens, but it feels nice enough in the moments before.

Ben hates himself for it, is still absolutely sickened by the man. It makes it hard to bear his presence, and he finds himself fishing out his compass and looking back down the road more than once, longing for home. He resolves to talk with Snoke to regain focus, but they must first finish the day's hike.

The movement is slow-going, has been since they left Baxt. The road is beyond overgrown; the stones are crumbled, and the entire path is missing in some places. The flora grows thick enough along the ground that they often can't find the dirt beneath them. It gives him time to study some of the things he wants, sketching them out quickly before catching up to the rest of the group. He catalogues as many as he can, each piece further burying the one of Armitage's scowling face.

When they stop for the evening and cut away space enough for camp, Ben seeks out Snoke.

"Help me, Mister Snoke," he murmurs, kneeling on the mat, head bowed. "Please."

"Help you?"

He nods, head still down. "I can't… I'm having a tough time, losing focus, being _stupid_. I…" He sighs, trying to gather himself again. "I need you to remind me. Clarify things."

"Very well, then. Listen closely."

← × →

Ben wakes the next morning with a new sense of weightlessness. He didn't dream about Armitage in any way, good or bad. He only slept, and it was peaceful. Snoke scoured him, settled him, honed him. The trick has always been acceptance, living the truth.

He's made to scout and clear the way with Armitage again, so there's no time for more sketches, but he doesn't need them to occupy his mind anymore. The new chill on the air clears his head, and the near-constant drip of moisture pushes the feeling into his bones.

"The way you fawn over him is disgusting."

Armitage's criticisms are getting worse as each hour passes by.

"One would think you suck his teats to live."

Ben hates it.

"Were you really so alone at home that you felt the need to fall onto his dick?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ben finally snaps, dropping the machete.

"What's wrong with _you_?" Armitage counters. "You came out here to—"

"Forget what I came out here for! I'm here! Deal with it!"

He quirks a brow. "But why, hm? All the way out here? With people like this? You're insane. You're not even a scientist; you're an artist with wealthy parents and a happy home."

Ben frowns. "So?"

"So," Armitage echoes, "go back home. I don't want to look at you."

Ben crosses his arms and squares his feet to the other man. "You hate everything, don't you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

Ben shakes his head. "I think you should really tone down the disrespect. It's not a good look on a murderer."

Armitage does that laugh again, the loud one that sounds far too humored for the circumstances. "I think you should do the same and go home. You don't realize what you've got there, do you?"

Ben stares at him for a while, waiting for him to answer his own question.

"You think that being looked down upon for being an artist is so awful that you have to leave your family's manor and climb up a mountain. Honestly?"

Ben huffs. "I _am_ looked down upon because I _am_ no more than an artist. Don't belittle my—"

"Have you ever considered killing your parents?"

"No, fuck." His mouth won't close; the question was too absurd.

"Then don't judge me for killing mine." He shrugs easily.

There's no way Ben can do that, but another idea pops up in his head. "How about you quit judging me for leaving my parents? Then I _might_ quit judging you for killing yours."

He grins. "Fair's fair. But I won't stop judging you for being such a cocksucker and slobbering all over Snoke."

Ben can't smile back, can't even grimace. There's nothing funny about anything that comes out of his mouth, and he really hopes Thannison has changed the accommodations this time around.

← × →

Thannison hasn't changed a damn thing for their accommodations in Semper Sol.

"Please, Thannison," Ben begs. "Please, just let me room with _anyone _else. He hates me, and I can't sleep anywhere near him."

Thannison rolls his eyes and looks to Mitaka. "Who would you rather room with tonight?"

Mitaka, soft and quiet at Thannison's side, sitting arm-in-arm with him, shrugs. "Above all, you," he murmurs. "But if that's not an option, I trust that you and Armitage can both sleep peacefully, and I'll be fine with Ben."

Nodding slowly, Thannison looks back to Ben. "If anything happens to Mitaka, I will kill you. You wouldn't be the first."

Ben nods. "Of course. I just want to sleep. That's all."

"Okay, then. Consider it changed."

← × →

Ben doesn't get as much sleep as he had been hoping for. Semper Sol, despite its name, it not exactly sunny. The trees still block out a lot of the sun, and this high up the mountain, the frost begins to nip at the skin.

Mitaka was very polite and thoughtful. They didn't talk much more than to arrange food and beds, but his kindness showed in his face. It was a thousand times easier than sharing a room with Armitage, certainly.

At breakfast, they all eat together at a small canteen. Peavey, Snoke, Kaplan, Canaday, Thannison and Mitaka, Phasma and Hux, and Ben. Semper Sol, as it turns out, is much larger than Baxt, and Thannison arranges for more services than at the previous two villages.

They're close, now, closer than ever before, and Ben can almost taste it from here. But resupplying will still take time, even with more availability, and so Ben must wait before hiking the rest of the way up.

He spends the first afternoon in town sketching out everything he sees. If he remembers it all clearly enough, he may be able to make more detailed paintings at home to remember the trip by. He draws the town square, the canteen where they eat, the entrance to the village, Armitage.

He's just sitting and cleaning his blaster — as he seems very want to do. The streetlights, which are left on all day, highlight the sharp angles of his face wonderfully. He stark cheekbones, the perfectly straight bridge of his nose, the fine brow. His hair and beard are favored more by the shadow, a brush of deeper, darker red against the highlighted yellow-white-orange. His hair has gotten longer, now dipping below his ears. He tucks it back whenever it comes down to hang loosely in his face.

Indulgently, Ben draws another one after sitting in another spot for a different angle. 

It's a shame he's such a scoundrel. He's precisely the type of person to be avoided at all costs, and yet, when he looks up at Ben from across the way, Ben's heart skips a beat.

He's always wanted the things he couldn't have. It makes him a little more angry than he ought to be.

← × →

Late that evening, after seeing Snoke, Ben runs into Armitage again. He's still at the lodging complex, having just left Snoke's quarters, and is walking past Armitage's and Thannison's open door when the other man calls out from inside the room.

"Did you suck his dick?"

Ben grits his teeth, eyeing him as he walks out to the doorway. "I thought we agreed to stop being so rude to each other."

"No, we agreed to stop thinking about each other's parents," Armitage says, stepping up to Ben and crowding him up against the wall. "But Snoke isn't your father; he's your daddy, isn't he?"

Ben tries to shove him back, but he's too strong and stays put. "Fuck off."

"Why are you so obsessed with him? He can't be the only nice thing you have."

"I said, _fuck off_," he growls, clenching his fists in Armitage's shirt and twisting him around to flip the tables. Armitage hits the wall with a huff, and Ben leans his weight into it, holding him there. "You're so…"

"So what?" he breathes, smirking. It's a softer one than Ben is used to, and then he realizes that he's not fighting the hold. He is just as close as Ben has been hoping lately, is flirting him into his clutches, but he's still awful and heartless.

Ben wants very little to do with him. He lets go.

"What am I to you, Solo?" Armitage asks again, hooking a finger into his pocket and pulling him back in. "What is it about me that has you so keen on coming over to my bedroom, getting in my face, and pinning me to walls?"

His face grows hot immediately. Of course, Armitage saw him staring earlier; he would know. "Shut up," he mumbles, closing his eyes when he's tugged closer. "I'm only putting up with you because I'm tired. I hate you."

"That's one thing we have in common, sweetheart," Armitage whispers. "What do you say you let some of that hate out? Get a little more tired?"

At the first brush of whiskers on his neck, Ben yanks Armitage off the wall and pushes him back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. "You're such an asshole," he growls, fighting to get his jacket off without undoing all the buttons. "A monster. Less than human." It's only halfway over his head when Armitage pulls it off and tosses it aside.

"You're a privileged son of a bitch with no respect for what you have!" He gets up in his face and looks like he's about to kiss Ben but instead grabs him by the hair and wrestles him down to the floor. He climbs atop Ben, divesting himself of his shirt.

Ben pulls off his own, bucking up against him. "You are a murderer, a scoundrel, a good-for-nothi— _mmf_." There are lips smashed up against his, sliding against them, roughing his face up with short, little hairs. His hands are trapped, too, wrists stuck in a vice against the floor.

"You're so _soft_," Armitage hisses. His mouth is still all over Ben's but his chest is against his, too, and his hands keep gripping and regripping his wrists. He leans down to whisper in his ear. "We need to harden you up. You can't go through life like this; it won't let you."

Before Ben can ask what that means, one of Armitage's hands darts down, rubbing against his skin and fumbling at the closure of his pants. When it opens, he reaches in and wraps his hand tightly around Ben's cock, squeezing and jerking it roughly. It's too much too soon, too fast and dry, and he groans, ripping his hands free from Armitage's grip to push him off.

Catching himself back on his hands, he smirks. "Second thoughts, love?"

Ben pounces and knocks him back, using his weight to hold him down. He looks happy, genuinely joyful at the turn, and it leaves Ben reeling and confused. "You're so fucked up," he sighs in exasperation, ducking down to steal another kiss from him, and the response is enthusiastic. He's kissed easily a dozen or more people before, but he's never felt another man's stubble scrape against him; beards have no place on Naboo.

Hands pull him down, force his body to rest on Armitage's, force his mouth to open and his tongue to brush against his. Ben moans, chasing the heady taste and delving his tongue deep into the other man's mouth. He grabs his face, unchecked stubble a rich texture on his palms, and holds Armitage still as he licks his way around, sliding his tongue up against every surface and sucking when Armitage's tongue ventures up past his lips.

Underneath him, Armitage squirms and bucks his hips up. He's hard; his pants are loose enough to show it, and Ben can feel it. Ben sits up and makes quick work of Armitage's pants, opening the button and zipper and pulling the soft fabric of his underwear down. He glances back up at Armitage's face while grabbing his cock, seeing nothing but hunger in his eyes.

It feels like a trap, holding Armitage here like this, naked and exposed, face serious but soft. It feels like a deathwish, like picking up a snake. He's playing dead, pretending to be friendly and safe, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Determined not to get bit, Ben inches himself back and dips his head down, taking a small lick at the precome at the head experimentally before opening his mouth wide and sucking down as much of his cock as he can in one go. As it turns out — partly due to his experience, partly due to Armitage's reasonable size — he's easily able to take all of it, throat swallowing around the head, tongue laving down toward his balls.

"Oh, no," Armitage groans, throwing his head back. He smacks one hand on the inside of his own thigh and pinches the skin there, turning it a bright pink. Turns out he's not so tough after all.

If Ben could smirk, he would. Instead, he bobs his head rhythmically, sloppily working his wet mouth over Armitage's cock. As the man starts to level out, Ben ups his efforts, tugging his pants down even further to get a hand under his balls. He caresses them gently, rolling them in time, until Armitage is breathing shakily and writhing underneath him.

"Fuck," he spits. "How are you so good at this?"

Ben hums, pulling off just long enough to speak. "You tell me. You're the one always talking about all the dick I suck." With that, he lowers his head back down, taking his cock in long, slow, strong pulls.

It's not long before he shudders and moans, jerking his hips up into Ben. Ben lets the cum pool in his mouth, fully intending to spit it out onto Armitage's bare chest, but is surprised when Armitage grabs his head and yanks him down into a messy kiss. Armitage moans, letting it spill into his mouth, then licks and sucks up all that's left. It's filthy, and Ben palms his own cock to alleviate the pressure.

When the mess is gone — mostly, anyway, with a small dribble running down into little orange hairs — Armitage pushes Ben up, maneuvering him over to a bed. Once Ben is seated, Armitage kneels, tugs his cock out, and gives it a few dry strokes, eyeing it hesitantly.

"Some of us are just born lucky," Ben gruffs.

He laughs easily, leaning forward and bringing his lips within a breath of it, but not yet taking his cock into his mouth. Wetting his lips, he begins down at the base, licking and kissing all around to slick it up. He licks a stripe up, flattening his tongue over the head, and then fits his mouth over it, gripping the base tightly with one hand. His other hand wanders up his chest, gliding over smooth skin idly. With his mouth occupied, his eyes do all the smiling for it, glittering up at Ben through his red hair while his mouth and hand work together.

Ben smirks. "That's a good look on you." Biting a lip, he brings a hand up to his hair, fingering the slightly overgrown locks. Armitage stiffens at the attention, eyes falling half-shut, and keeps slobbering on his dick. He takes a bit more of that shiny hair between his fingers, then pulls.

He feels it before he sees it, Armitage's fist in his gut. Ben doubles over, nauseated and disorientated, and then quickly finds his face buried in the mattress and something sharp poking into his side.

Armitage is heavy atop him, panting. "Don't pull my hair."

Ben still isn't sure where each of his limbs are, what Armitage is threatening him with, or how he should feel about it. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "Should I be sorry?"

Silence.

More silence.

Some breathing, followed by even more tense, cold, frozen silence.

"No," Armitage says finally, and it's little more than a squeak, a hoarse whisper. The jab in Ben's side disappears briefly, then reappears up at his ribs. "Don't fucking do it again, though." Then it disappears again, and Ben is pulled up into a kneeling position by an arm around his neck.

Swallowing, Ben closes his eyes. He could be killed like this, _just like this_, and that would be it. "Would you really kill someone over something like that?" he finds himself asking, though he knows he should keep his mouth shut.

A beat goes by in which Armitage should laugh, but he doesn't, and it sends something like ice rushing through Ben's veins. "Yes," Armitage murmurs. "I've already done it twice before." Keeping one arm around his neck, he snakes the other around his waist, teasing over his skin.

Ben can't look down like this, but he can imagine the way that little pale hand looks, light and soft, wrapped around the dark, flushed skin of his cock. It's warm, too, like his chest — warmer than he could ever have associated with him before. He gives in to the hold, letting his weight sink in to the man holding him. "But you won't kill me?"

Armitage hums, and Ben feels their heads press together at the sides. His hand tightens around his cock. "You're cute," he murmurs, and then he quickens his pace.

Ben moans, but he's still distracted by Armitage's sudden outburst. He doesn't like having his hair pulled? He's so averse to it that he would kill Ben, that he has _already_ killed two other people? His reaction was lightning-fast, certainly deadly if he'd meant it, and Ben wouldn't have stood a chance. He wants to ask more questions, but he knows it'll only worsen things — whatever this _thing_ is they have now.

"Stop thinking," Armitage growls, pulling him closer. Ben can feel his dick, still wet, pressed up against his back, and his hot chest burns against him. His beard rubs against his shoulder when he speaks. "I don't want you to daydream. I want you to cum for me."

"For you?" Ben scoffs.

"Yes." The grip he has on Ben abruptly eases, and Armitage flips him over onto his back, covering him with his own body. Face now directly above his, Armitage kisses him again, slow and deep.

The flip-flop-flip of it throws Ben for a loop, but he can't deny Armitage when he resumes his early position between his legs, mouthing at his cock. He looks a little more desperate now, watching Ben carefully as he fits as much of him into his mouth as he can, but Ben can't put a hand on him.

Then it hits Ben — Armitage can't lose. He can't be wrong, he can't be bad, and he can't lose. He stows this information away for later use.

When Armitage's jaw starts to tire, and he pulls off more than a few times to let his hands do the work, Ben finally starts to stir, letting that heat build up. He bucks his hips up the next time Armitage's lips close around him, and they both moan. Armitage lifts off of him just as he starts, closing his eyes and pouting in his surprise as his face is splattered with cum.

With one hand, Armitage clears away what's around his eyes, then gives Ben a glare. "You—"

"Oh, just get up here," Ben mutters, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him close before rolling them over. Now on top of Armitage, he wipes the remaining cum off of his face, swiping his hand on the bedsheet. "I hope you know what this means now."

Armitage glares. "Nothing."

"Exactly." With that, Ben rolls off of him, shucking off his pants and yanking the covers up over himself. "I'm crashing here tonight. It's cold."

Armitage huffs, but doesn't argue. Rather, he removes his own pants and backs up against Ben, combining their heat.

← × →

The next day, Armitage moves Ben's things into his room.

"There's no point in keeping Thannison strung between these rooms," he says, frowning. "That kid has done nothing to deserve this bullshit."

"_This bullshit _being…," Ben trails off, raising his brows.

"Not a nightly thing," Armitage fills in, pulling him close. He digs his hands into Ben's shirt, twisting the fabric and bringing them chest-to-chest. "But a tonight thing, for sure, now that we've established a…dialogue."

Ben hums, eyeing his lips. "A dialogue?" he asks. "I'm not sure what that means."

He smiles, though it's reserved. "It's quiet up on this mountain, what do you say? Just fuck me right up, Solo."

← × →

As they lie in bed, together again in one, they talk.

"Why did you follow that old man up here?" Armitage asks. It's cold again tonight, and he threw a thermal on after they finished, but he still holds onto Ben's large frame under the covers, lies over him like a vornskr over its prey.

Ben frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why? Do you really want to be up on this mountain with monsters and scoundrels so badly?"

He watches him, studies his gaze. "I'm not here for the monsters and scoundrels."

Armitage hums. "No, you're not, are you?" He looks up and away in the direction of Ben's pack. "You're here for that plant."

"Atrius's Bane," he says, and he looks back at him sleepily. "I'm here for that plant, yes. Not for company."

Armitage smirks, rubbing a hand on Ben's chest. "We'll see about that last note." He bites a lip, then gets serious again. "But why follow Snoke? Surely, you have money at home. You can fund yourself."

He sighs and shakes his head. "My parents have money. But they won't give it to me."

"And you won't steal it?"

"Why would I do that?"

Armitage shrugs. "Just saying."

He rolls his eyes, nodding. "No, I won't steal it. Accepting Snoke's sponsorship was bad enough."

"But that's my point exactly," Armitage probes. "Why come with him? If the plant is so important, why would your parents not want you to come up here and get it? And if Snoke is so bad, why would you indulge him? Why not stay at home, where things are easy and you've got it good? I'd have killed for a home like yours."

He sighs again. "It's complicated."

It's Armitage's turn to roll his eyes. "Complicated. I hate that word. Just tell it like it is."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he sighs, exasperated. "I've heard all the family drama before, Solo."

He huffs. "All right, then. Let's start with the plant. My parents don't agree that the plant has such special properties that it's worth seeking out." At Armitage's disbelieving look, he shrugs. "They saw that my grandfather suffered delusions as a result of the poisoning, and they chalked all of his conclusions up to that."

"Well, I certainly hope they're not right because I'd like to be rich."

He smiles. "Me, too. And then with Snoke, that's a slightly longer story. I don't really know if I…"

"If you don't want to tell me, then don't," Armitage declares.

"It's not that, I just…," Ben trails off again. "It's a little hard for me to understand, y'know, why my parents would disapprove of him and his influence. I—"

"It's because he's abusive with you."

Ben frowns at the presumptive interruption. "No, I don't—"

"I know you don't really get it now," Armitage interrupts briskly, "but the way he's treating you is manipulative and wrong."

He reels, and his face gets hot. "No. Why would you— You haven't even—" He stutters over every thought. Armitage has never even been there when they've spoken. How could he know?

"Ben, I know. He's constantly praising you and belittling you, and then he tells you it's the truth even though he's lying, and it's all subjective anyway."

"No, you don't know. You—"

"You think I haven't known anyone like Snoke?" he growls, shutting him down. His eyes are dark now, mean and wary. His scowl does not suit him well. "I know what he's doing to you; I've been in your place. He is _not_ good for you. He's a bad man."

Ben scoffs. "You're a murderer, Armitage. You're a bad man."

He blinks, then blinks again. "I'm a murderer _because_ I killed bad men. Men like Snoke. Like my father." He withdraws a little, curling more into himself and creating a distance between them. "My father would tell me how useless I was until I was begging to hear what stupid things I was useful for. It went on for years, for two decades; I spent my entire childhood like that. I was bad at school, bad with other kids, bad with adults. I couldn't cook or clean, nor could I speak correctly. I couldn't walk the right way or shake a hand like a man should." He looks down at the covers, shivering. He's quiet for a moment. "B-but when he said good things about me, it felt good. In the rare times he touched me without hitting me, it felt good. When he pulled my hair, it felt good. And that's why you can't… He ruined that for me. And I don't want a man like that ruining good things for you, too."

Ben chews his lip for a while, thinking for a moment. Maybe Armitage isn't a monster for killing abusers; maybe he does have a heart. But he's still wrong. "Snoke isn't like that," he mumbles. "He doesn't…do any of that stuff. He's old, and he's not… No. He's amazing. He's the best to me."

Armitage stares at him. "It's not the… No. No, Ben. It's the concept of it, not—"

"It's just not like that, Armitage. He tells me the truth, more than anyone else is willing to." He frowns deeply, scowling. "Maybe you just don't get it because you're not from Naboo, but everyone there is nice — too nice. No one will alert you to your faults, so you always have to find out the hard way. But Snoke is actually honest. He tells me what I need to know. That's not abuse. That's _empowerment_. Maybe you don't understand because you've never had someone like this, but I find he's opening my eyes better than anyone else — definitely better than you."

Armitage huffs and turns over, bunkering down for the night. "Right. Whatever you want to tell yourself, Solo."

← × →

Armitage is already up and out of the room by the time Ben wakes. He takes his time in bed, warming up and stretching out his muscles before rising. He dresses, eats breakfast, apologizes to Thannison, and prepares his things to head out.

This is it. They're hiking up to Atrius's Lookout next. It'll get colder, but they'll be closer. He can almost taste victory.

There's a light mist out when they start their hike, and it soon turns to a slightly heavier drizzle that makes cutting through the plants a little tougher than before. The cold soaks through the layers of clothing, and by the time camp is set up, Ben can barely bring himself to defrost by the fire.

Of course, Armitage is on the other side, chatting with Phasma and Kaplan, and steadfastly ignoring Ben. He's good at being an asshole, Ben thinks. It makes sense, naturally, that he'd be so defensive. He had gotten soft and told Ben something that sounded like a secret, but he had taken perhaps half a step too far in confessing his distaste for Snoke.

Mostly alone, he fishes that compass out of his pocket again. He had resisted looking at it during the hike, but now, in the deeper dark of night, he can't help himself. The needle is still pulled straight back, pointing down the road they made. It almost buzzes with energy in his hands.

"Mister Solo, I want to talk with you."

Startled, Ben shoves the compass back into his pocket and turns around. Snoke, bundled up and disgruntled, nods over to a quiet corner.

"Yes, Mister Snoke?"

"We are close now. Within the week, we will be up there and searching. I trust you know where it is?"

Ben nods. "I do, I think. I mean, I think I do. I think I know where it is."

Snoke scoffs. "If you can't even speak, why should I trust you?"

He sighs and nods, collecting himself. "I know where to find Atrius's Bane. I have all of my grandfather's information in my datapad. We can't miss it."

"Good," he grits out. "Otherwise, I'd hate to have wasted this journey on you. If I find out you're lying about that plant…"

"Lying?" Ben gasps. "Mister Snoke, I would never—"

"Show, don't tell," Snoke snaps. "You need to act like an adult out here. And you ultimately need to find that plant as quickly as possible. This is all riding on you. I would not be out here if it weren't for you, and neither would anyone else. Don't let us down."

Ben clamps his jaw shut and nods. "Of course, Mister Snoke. I won't let you down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niibeth's [tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com) once again, and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nymeriaking).


	4. Let It Grow

The rain gets heavier and colder as the company makes its way further up the mountain. It's exhausting to keep trekking through the thick forest, but they do.

In truth, Atrius's Lookout is not far from Semper Sol. They're very close, in fact. But the thin, damp air, the wet chill, and the heavy growth along the upward path all conspire to push everyone to their limits.

The nights are even more difficult than the days. Alone in his tent, Ben shivers against the ground and holds onto his compass, watching the needle point straight home.

He's so close. That's the thought with which he comforts himself. They are only a few long days away from the Lookout, and then once he finds the Bane, they're free. It's hard. He's never done this much walking in his life, and he's never weathered such conditions before, but as cold as the air is, it's not the worst cold he faces.

Armitage is colder. He doesn't talk to Ben, not even when they scout together. Ben does everything he can to get his attention, even the negative sort, and it never works. He goes about clearing the path slowly, barely helping him at all, and he doesn't say a word. He goes quickly, clears brush faster than ever before, and still nothing. He doesn't seek him out after dark either. 

It was a bad idea anyway.

As the long days slowly pass, Ben reminds himself of Snoke's favors to him. Distractions are not only blocking his own path, but others' paths, too. If he lets little things like homesickness and his short affair with Armitage get in his way, then he's no longer pulling his own weight, and others will have to pick up the slack for him, as they have always done.

He can't be like that anymore. He's already been a drag in his own family, and he's now a burden on Snoke's funds. The more time and effort he wastes, the more he's abusing Snoke's favor, and he can't live with that. He _needs_ to find Atrius's Bane as soon as possible, if not for himself or his grandfather's legacy, then to repay everyone he's using.

As they make their way up, he studies the journal entries he has saved in his datapad. He looks them over every night, reading each detail over and over and over again. What soil the Bane grows in, what plants it grows with, what animals are found near it, where it gets its water. He already knows what it looks like, has pored over the drawings his whole life, but he still checks it over each night and day to make sure he the visuals right.

There's no map from here, though; Anakin never drew one, nor did he describe any sort of road that would lead to a cluster of Atrius's Bane. Once they get to the Lookout, they'll have to search the whole expanse until it's found, and the notes about its habitat are all they'll have to go on. That's his one big worry, but the worrying can wait until they get there.

Eventually, they do get there.

Atrius's Lookout is flat, a sudden plateau on an otherwise grueling slope. It can't be seen from any distance, but the change in grade is impossible to miss, and no one does.

"We made it," Snoke murmurs into his ear, a hand placed on his shoulder, fingers digging in. "Now is the time for you to finally prove your worth. Let's see if all this money spent on you is not lost."

Before they can begin looking in earnest, they set up camp in the clearest area they can find and sit down for a pre-celebratory lunch.

While eating, Peavey raises a cup. "It's been almost four weeks that we've been out here, fighting our way through nature," he says. He gestures the cup in Ben's direction, and every gaze turns onto him. "After this meal, we will begin to help Mister Solo locate Atrius's Bane. Then, it will all be worth it. We can take it home."

The small company cheers to Peavey briefly, and lunch is over not long after that. Once everything is cleaned up, they brief on the plant's image and safe handling, and then split into teams of two to begin their search.

Ben is sent out Canady.

"So your father," Canady says — these are his first words to Ben during the entire expedition. "Han Solo. He is an explorer, isn't he?"

Ben shifts his eyes toward him briefly before quickly returning to his examination of the thick fronds of what he suspects to be a Guman plant. "Yes."

"That's so interesting," he rambles on. "I love exploring. I see lots of new places and new things. Does he have a collection he adds to when he comes back from trips?"

"Um." Ben frowns, blinking. The veins on these leaves look different than what the journal says, so it might be something else. He has to think about Canady's question for a few seconds while he pulls the datapad out to double check. "Uh, yes. He does."

The response comes too quickly. "What does he have?"

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Ben turns to him and frowns. "Have you been listening for that Bludo bird I told you to keep an ear out for?"

Canady blinks, pointing to his chest. "Me?"

"Yes, you," he says, and a scowl takes over his face. He stands, pocketing the datapad. "If you aren't going to help, you shouldn't be out here. The day's almost over, and we have to head back soon. We can't go back with nothing. Listen for that bird."

He smiles, but there's no apology to be heard.

Exasperated, Ben turns back around and keeps walking further into the wilderness, away from camp. The deeper he gets, the more lost he feels. He isn't lost, of course; they are tracking their path. He only _feels_ lost, perhaps because he finally is, in a way.

Mitaka guided the company all the way up to the Lookout from Velthym. He took care of all the navigation, always ensured that they would take no false step. But now they're blind. Mitaka can lead the company up to a general area, but there's nothing more specific than that. All they can do is keep their eyes and ears open for context, for the right environment. They don't have any actual locations to go off of.

He's just walking aimlessly through the wilderness.

But he's not _aimless_. He can't be. He can't afford to be. Every person that's here is here because of him. His aim is to get them what he brought them here for, to pay them back for their troubles.

He has to find that damn plant.

He keeps going and going, looking for any sign of it, but all he finds is more of the same. He and Canady are forced to turn back before he can say he has any leads.

No one else has found anything either.

He spends much of the night in Snoke's tent, apologizing for the wasted day.

"We can only afford two more days up here before we must resupply in Semper Sol."

Ben bows his head. "I know, sir. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasted this day. I'll keep look—"

"You _will_ keep looking," Snoke snaps. "Desperately. That is why you are here."

He nods in agreement, and Snoke keeps lecturing him.

"None of these people know as much as you do about finding this thing. None of them. They don't have access to a lifetime of work, to your journals. They are not the ones who should be out and looking. They don't owe you anything, and they can't deliver what they don't have. It is ultimately up to you to do the searching. Do you understand?"

He sighs, thinks back to Canady not listening for specific bird call he'd asked for, and nods. "I understand, Mister Snoke. I saw that firsthand today. No one should need to help me."

"No one should help you," Snoke scoffs. "Period. But here we are, ensnared. We can't do anything without you. You know this, and you abuse it constantly."

"I don't meant to, I—"

"You know what you're doing," he snarls, and Ben flinches. After a second, he calms, taking Ben's face in hand and caressing it. "You are a smart boy, Ben."

Blinking, Ben looks up. He can't remember the last time someone called him smart. It's not a word artists are prone to hearing, he's always supposed. But now, with a chance to prove himself, Snoke is recognizing his wit. A thanks is in order, he realizes belatedly, but Snoke interrupts him before he can say a word.

"Stop using your cleverness to manipulate us into giving you what you want. Start using it to right your wrongs."

He lowers his head again, swallowing. "Of course, Mister Snoke. I'm sorry, Mister Snoke."

"Stop with that nonsense. Being sorry doesn't help anyone, and you don't mean it anyway."

← × →

The next morning, Ben gets paired with Armitage. He takes the opportunity to thank him.

"Hey, um."

Armitage hums, raising a brow.

Ben sighs, thinking on everything Snoke said the night before. "Thank you," he decides, looking down at his feet, "for climbing all the way up here. I know I can be a bit of a drag on all of you, but thank you for letting me come along to find Atrius's Bane for you. And thank you for coming out here and helping me search. You don't have to do any of that because this mission is my responsibility, but you and everyone else have been more supportive than I deserve, so thank you."

When he looks up, Armitage is staring at him and looking vaguely ill. He doesn't offer any acceptance and stays silent, off-put.

Ben frowns. "Did I say something wrong?"

Instead of answering, Armitage walks off into the trees. Ben follows.

The rest of their day is tense, but that may be due more to the climate than to the relationship between the two of them. They don't say much to each other, but Armitage listens well when Ben advises him on identifying leads.

They don't find anything together, and neither does anyone else in the company, so Ben is silent at dinnertime.

← × →

"You only have one day left."

"I know, Mister Snoke. I'm sorry." Ben squeezes his hands together, bowing his head over them in apology. "I'm so sorry. I'll find it tomorrow. I promise."

Snoke growls. "What's the point? If you haven't found it by now, what makes you think you'll find it tomorrow?"

"I'll try harder tomorrow," he insists, but Snoke isn't impressed.

"Do you mean to imply that you aren't trying your hardest already?"

His veins turn to ice, and he doesn't say a word. Unbidden, tears burn in his eyes.

"What do you think will happen if you can't prove yourself?"

Lip trembling, the tears spill. "Mister Snoke, please."

"I cannot continue to sponsor you past our agreed timeline, especially if you have not proven yourself worth an ounce. If you were half as worthy as your grandfather, you would have found it by now."

← × →

Unable to bear the burden of dragging another person along to experience their disappoint so closely, Ben spends the final day alone. He searches and searches, studies everything he sees.

All he finds, over the course of the entire day, are entirely normal plants. He can't find the Bane. The Lookout is large, he knows. They must just be in the wrong area. Or he's missed something crucial.

He waits until it's nearly too dark to be out to even consider coming back to camp. When he drags his feet back in, alone, quiet, uncelebrated, he finds the camp in a bit of chaos.

Shouting, someone running, a blaster shot, more shouting, someone calling for de-escalation.

Armitage has Kaplan at blasterpoint. Everyone else is on the other side of camp.

"Don't you fucking dare do that to him, or _anyone_, ever again!" Armitage shouts. "He is not your slave. You do not own him. He does not belong to you in any capacity. If I see you treat another person like anything less than a person again, I will not hesitate to kill you."

Kaplan scoffs and laughs nervously. "You haven't thought this through, have you? I'm paying you, and it doesn't go through until your job is done. You can't just turn the blaster on me now."

"You haven't thought this through, Kaplan. I don't give a shit whether you're alive or dead."

"But I do," Phasma interrupts. Ben hadn't seen her wander over, but now she's got her own large blaster aimed at her friend. "You're not the only one getting paid, Armitage. You might have forfeited your cut with this cute little stunt of yours, but you aren't forfeiting mine just to kill one crumb of a man."

Kaplan squawks in protest at the jab, but doesn't argue any further.

Armitage lowers his blaster and stalks across camp to where the others have fled the dramatic scene. He stops in front of Mitaka, and the camp is quiet enough that Ben can hear him speak softly. "Are you all right?"

Slowly, Mitaka nods. "Yes. Thanks to you. Thank you, Armitage."

Behind him, Thannison nods his agreement. "Thank you, Armitage."

"Of course," he sighs. "If anyone does anything like that to you again, call for me. I'll take care of it."

← × →

In the morning, the company quietly packs up camp and begins the trek back down to Semper Sol.

No one talks to Ben. He doesn't want to talk to anyone anyway. 

He's failed. They climbed all the way up from Velthym to Atrius's Lookout, and his only job was to secure Atrius's Bane so that no one came up here for nothing. And he failed. He's on the hook for everything. All that time and money is gone. All that effort was for naught. Snoke was right.

The way down is quicker than the way up, so they only spend three nights in tense silence instead of five. It's still a long three nights.

When they're back in Semper Sol, Snoke pulls Ben aside, and they go for a walk alone. 

"You are a disappointment to everyone involved, Mister Solo," Snoke tells him calmly. "I wish I could express some shock at your failure, but I have none. I could not be more upset with you, but worse, I am upset with myself."

Ben can't do anything but listen.

"I am upset with myself for investing in you," Snoke continues. "I knew not to put any stock in you, and yet, you wormed your way in to convince me of your competence, and I fell for it."

Ben curls in on himself when Snoke settles a hand on his shoulder. He knows what's coming.

"I cannot continue to fund such a fruitless venture. I will be returning home. You should do the same, though you must make your own way. Call your parents, perhaps, if they are any longer willing to support a snake such as you."

The air is thin; that's why it's hard for Ben to breathe, surely. He looks Snoke in the eye, pleading. "You won't even take me back home?"

Snoke's already twisted face twists some more in a harsh sneer. "No. You've used me enough."

He can't cry. He can't. Adults don't cry. The effort of holding back his tears is too much, and he hiccups. "I'm sorry, sir."

Snoke shakes his head. "No, you're not."

"But I am!" Ben insists. "I am sorry. I never meant to fail. That's not why I'm here."

"If you were really sorry, you would never have led us all on the way you did. As I told you before, you are clever enough to know better. You're a charlatan, and I'm done with you." With that, Snoke turns back around and leaves, walking in the direction of the company's lodging.

Ben can't follow him. He stays out the rest of the day, bored without his belongings, and waits until after dark to go back to the boarding house and find his room.

He's back with Armitage again. Armitage is already asleep, so he takes care to stay quiet as he readies for bed. He dresses quietly, sorts through his things quietly, gets in bed quietly.

He can't sleep, though. How will the morning go? He can't go home. He doesn't yet have the means, nor does he have the will. He fishes the compass out of his bag, thinking it over, wishing for his parents' advise. Except the compass doesn't point him home to his parents. It wavers, needle shifting constantly in any direction.

His parents never even wanted him to come up here in the first place. Why should they want him to come home? They knew he would fail. And he has.

But maybe that's not the case yet. If he can stay, he'll go up again, stay up at the Lookout until he secures the Bane.

But how can he stay? He needs money. Maybe that's not such a hard thing to acquire. There are comms arrays in Semper Sol. He can probably talk with anyone, if he looks.

He settles on trying, at the very least. Even if none of the others decide to keep searching, he'll go by himself. He can carry all his own things, and the road is already flattened for him. It'll be easy enough the second time around. Or even the third, if he has to.

He won't fail, no matter what. He'll stay as long as he needs. Turning tail and going home is not what his grandfather would have done, nor is it what his father would do. Ben will never do such a thing either. He'd rather die on this mountain, attain glory for his efforts, than try and fail so quickly.

Sleep finds him more easily after that decision.

← × →

When he wakes, he's expecting Armitage to already be up and gone, as seems his typical manner. But he's not.

Sitting up on his bed, laying out everything from his pack, is Armitage. He seems to be accounting for his possessions, looking each of them over, and organizing them. When Ben yawns, he looks up.

"Morning," is all he says, then he looks back down at his things.

Ben watches him for a while, and the focus is nice to behold, but it quickly grows boring. He has a question on his mind, one from late last night.

"Are you going back up?"

"I thought you were gone."

Having spoken at the same time, their voices clash, and they both look slightly perturbed.

"I, what?" Ben asks, frowning. He thinks he heard the question right, but…

"I thought you were gone," Armitage repeats. "You know, for good. Thought you'd left, that Snoke made you leave."

"Oh." Ben sulks and sighs. "Maybe he should have — he definitely had every right to — but no. He won't pay for anything for me anymore, not even the way back home."

Armitage slows his movements, watching him carefully. "You still talk about him like he's right."

He frowns. "He is."

"But he's not sponsoring you anymore."

"No, he's not," Ben allows, "but that doesn't mean he isn't correct, or that what he says isn't true."

It's Armitage's turn to frown. "He's irrelevant now, is what I mean. He has nothing to hang over your head anymore. You can stop thinking that what he says matters."

He blinks. "I don't know what you're getting at. You think that what Snoke says doesn't matter unless he's—"

"Abusing you, yes," Armitage interrupts. "I know you think you know a lot about life, but the number one rule to it all is not to listen to the people who are paying you money."

"Don't listen to the people who are paying me money?"

"Because you, as a person, are never worth it. That's never why they're paying you." Armitage crosses his arms and fixes Ben a stern look. "Whatever they're paying you, they intend to make much more in return. Anything they say to you is to get you to believe otherwise. They pay you to listen, and they tell you to accept what you're being paid. That's it. Once that transaction is over, you'll find that none of it ever mattered to you personally."

It's too much convoluted information, and Ben doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing.

Armitage sighs, still studying him. "What I mean is, that part of your life is done. Snoke means nothing. You have a clean slate now."

"Oh," Ben murmurs. He shrugs half-heartedly. "I guess, yeah. I just… I wish he hadn't hurt him so bad that he gave up on me."

"You're going to need to ditch that thinking to keep talking to me."

"What?"

"That way you think, as if everything you do is wrong?" He grimaces. "I hate it. I don't want to hear it."

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't be, please," Armitage insists. Frustrated, he sighs. "I know I'm like a battering ram, and all my ideas are scattered because I don't expand on any of them enough, only repeat them more strongly, but… I'm glad you're back. I was afraid Snoke matters to you more than this expedition does. I'm happy to see that's not the case."

"Oh," Ben says, perking up. "You wanted me here?"

"You're the only lead we have on finding that thing, so yes."

"You're going back up?"

"Of course. We're all the way up here already. We can afford to stay as long as it takes." He leans back on his hands, chewing a lip. "You're the one who needs funds."

Nodding, Ben relaxes a little. He still needs funds, yes, but he'll be in company while he's here and won't have to do anything alone. "I'm glad you're going up to the Lookout again. I thought I'd be going alone."

"Alone?" Armitage asks, scandalized. "You really want to be up there that bad? That you'd go alone?"

He blinks. "Of course. I wouldn't have come here if I didn't want to."

For a moment, Armitage is still. Then, in a flash, he jumps up from his bed and crosses the room, climbing in with Ben. He pushes his way under the covers, slipping a leg over Ben's hips, and gets right in his face.

"It's been a cold week without you, if I'm honest," he whispers, taking Ben's face in his hands. He leans down and places his open mouth over Ben's, kissing him slowly.

Ben breaks it earlier than he'd like to. "Is this because of Snoke? You're only back because he's gone?"

Armitage chuckles, pressing their foreheads together. "No," he murmurs. "It's because of you. I like a strong will."

← × →

Ben spends a lot of time talking to lenders and their associates and their lenders.

He fails hard the first few times. For days, he can't even get a holocall because no one is willing to fund an artist on an expedition that has been proven to be unsuccessful.

So he tries another way. He's not an artist, but a botanist. That doesn't work because he's still Ben Solo, and everyone knows that Ben Solo did not follow in his family's footsteps.

So then he tries yet another way, one he doesn't feel as good about.

"Yes, Mister Pryde. We've already been up to Atrius's Lookout, and we're going back up again to do more work."

_"You've acquired this plant already?"_

Ben swallows. "Of course."

_"All right. How much time do you need?"_

"Our current estimate is two weeks. Handling the Bane is very dangerous, of course."

_"That makes sense. I'll have my adjuster research the estimated costs for you, then you'll have the money."_

"Thank you, sir."

_"No, Mister Solo,"_ Pryde says. _"Thank you. I expect a good return."_

Finished with the holocall, Ben hangs up and immediately walks out of the bedroom. He needs to wash his hands or bathe or something. He never wanted to lie to a lender, and it was all he could do to keep from throwing up on the call.

When he steps out, he doesn't see Armitage nearby, only Canady, busy on a call of his own. It might be best to wait in their bedroom instead of seeking him out. He isn't feeling good enough to show his face in public yet.

He lies down on his bed and sighs heavily. Two weeks worth of money. He'll have to use some of it to repay Thannison for his coverage, and then he'll be left with enough for one more trip. After that, without proof of success, he's not likely to fool that lender, Pryde, any longer. The search will have to be extensive and thorough. They can't be splitting off into groups of two this time around.

But for now, he has to wait. To occupy himself, he pulls out his sketchbook. He's been relying on it heavily these past few days while they rest and restock, but instead of cataloguing the flora he's seen, he's been more indulgent.

Armitage's face is like a chameleon, he's noticed. Its dimensions are so varied that, in any change of angle, he looks different. He's been practicing, dreaming. He's been drawing more than just his face, too.

He flips to the latest page, a half-finished sketch of his form lying in bed. He looks smaller in the sheets than he does when he's up and dressed; his warm clothing adds bulk to his lithe frame. He's a delicate combination of thin and strong, soft and sharp. His beard helps to fill out his face, and hair, growing ever longer, adds a certain healthiness to his light weight.

"I heard you found someone."

The voice startles him, and he looks up from his sketchbook to see Armitage walking in. "Yeah," he breathes. "How'd you know?"

"I ran into Canady on my way back." He shrugs and tosses a packet into Ben's lap, slowly walking over. "I brought you this. When will you have the money?"

Ben picks the packet up and examines it. Jerky. "Thanks. Um, I'm not sure yet. He said he'll get back to me. But as soon as I have it and can pay Thannison, we're going up to the Lookout."

"Huh."

Ben looks back up at him. "Huh?"

Armitage is looking down at his lap and the sketchbook in it, smiling softly. "That's me."

A blush creeps over his face, and his grip on the book tightens. "Um, yeah. Sorry."

"Sorry?"

"For drawing you without your permission. I didn't, I—"

"I like it." Armitage leans in over him to get a better look. "Is this the only one?"

Ben blushes more. "No," he confesses, and Armitage gives him a look. He swallows, slowly turning the pages back one at a time to show him the drawings. There's the one of him in bed, one of him out in the forest, one of him looking down while he sorts his things, one of him at the lunch table…

"Wow," Armitage breathes. His own face is going slightly pink, too, and he takes a seat next to Ben, bodies touching from hip to shoulder. "These are impressive, Ben."

Ben blinks, staring at him in shock. "They are?"

Huffing, Armitage nods vigorously. He turns to look at Ben, and their faces are almost too close for them to properly look at each other. "I may be biased, of course. I've never had a portrait done before, but…"

"I can do a better one," Ben offers quietly. "These are just simple sketches."

In answer, Armitage presses in and locks their lips briefly, lingering close by to whisper. "I don't have anything to give you in return."

Ben accepts another short kiss, wrapping an arm around his waist. "You don't need to. This is enough." He takes another, then another.

Armitage hums into his mouth, darting his tongue between his teeth briefly, teasingly, before pulling back to rove his eyes over his face. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. "You're far too kind, Ben. You shouldn't spare so much on me. Your future is better than that."

Ben furrows his brow and tightens his hold on Armitage. "Who are you to tell me what my future holds?"

Laughing, Armitage pushes him down into the mattress, knocking the contents from his lap and straddling him. "Why don't you tell me, then, Mister Solo. What does your future hold?"

The corners of his mouth turn down of their own volition. He doesn't exactly have an interesting life, and he could never come up with goals, so there aren't any specific answers he can give. "Anything," he decides.

Armitage's smile turns smug, if a little pinched. "Exactly," he murmurs, lowering himself to bury his face in Ben's neck. "With anything at your beck and call, you can't settle for someone as fucked up as I am." Slowly, he rocks his hips against Ben's, making his groin stir.

"I know you're bad, Armitage, but I don't think you're _that_ bad."

"My step-mother is serving a life sentence for what I did to my father."

Ben pauses. "Okay, that's bad."

Armitage chuckles, grinding harder. "I've hunted someone for fun."

"Hunted?"

"And killed," Armitage confirms with a nod. He comes up for a kiss, deep and probing, sliding a hand up Ben's shirt.

Ben moans, shivering when Armitage brushes his fingers over a nipple.

"And I've robbed a lot of people," he says when he comes up for air, smiling. "I'm wanted in a few dozen systems."

Ben watches reverently as he sits up to open their pants, taking out both of their cocks and lining them up. He stares down and lightly strokes his fingers over them, barely applying any pressure.

"That's why I'm no more than your toy, Ben." He looks Ben in the eye, grinning. "Use me while you can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niibeth's [tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com) once again, and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nymeriaking).


	5. Over His Head

The money from Pryde is wired two days later. The knowledge of how he acquired it sits like a stone in Ben's stomach, but he lets the bubbly feeling of being closer to finding Atrius's Bane and restoring his grandfather's work carry him through.

"Here you are," he tells Thannison, tapping their datapads together to transfer the requested sum of credits. "Is that everything? For what I owed you and for your next order?"

"That's everything," he confirms with a nod, pocketing his datapad. "Thank you for following through on payment. After those first couple of days, I was worried Peavey would own your head. I really thought you wouldn't manage to get the money."

Ben tries to laugh off the nervous fluttering in his gut. "Well, at the very least, my family would pay almost anything to get me back home, so that's never really a worry."

"But they won't pay to continue the expedition?" Thannison is giving him an odd look now. "Thought it was curious that Snoke was sponsoring you."

He blinks, smile failing. Truth is best, he supposes; the fewer lies to track, the better. "They think I'm worth much more than that plant, so no."

"Huh." Thannison makes to return to his room, but turns back before he can push himself fully off the wall. "How did you finally find a sponsor, anyway? You took a lot of negatives in your search. What changed?"

His blood pounds through his veins, and his throat tightens uncomfortably. He shrugs minutely. "I, uh, tried sounding a little more positive, I guess. Enthusiasm goes a long way."

He tilts his head curiously, but smiles nonetheless. "I suppose it does," he offers, finally leaving. "See you in the morning. We should have everything settled by then so we can leave."

Ben nods at his back. "See you."

← × →

The company heads out the next morning, just as planned, and begins the now shorter hike back up to the Lookout. The weather not any warmer than it was on the first trek, but Ben's tent is.

"I could never call you a toy," Ben murmurs into Armitage's skin as quietly as he can muster in his aroused state.

Underneath him, the man shifts his hips, bucking up against him. His neck is hot against Ben's face, and his breath fans over his hair. "What else do you call something that's meant to be used and then replaced?"

Ben huffs, grinding his hips down into his. The tent is small, but it holds their heat well, and he finds his frustration at the blatant disregard of his will to heat him to the point of sweating. He places his hands heavily over Armitage's arms, pinning them down. "The only other thing I can think of in that regard is, well," he pauses, not wanting to say it — it's worse than a toy. "A tool."

It's debatable whether he hears a strained whine come from Armitage's throat or not, but it he can definitely feel it thrum through the flesh underneath his lips. 

"But you are not a tool, Armitage," Ben continues, sliding his lips up to his ear. It's hot under his touch, blood rushing. "I can't use you like one." He lifts a hand off of one of Armitage's arms to brush his hair out of his face, only for it to be ruined by a fist pulling their faces together.

The resulting kiss is brief and closed, and Armitage looks him in the eye to speak. "That's my job, Mister Solo. My livelihood as a mercenary depends on how good of a tool I am. It's not an insult. It doesn't hurt me."

Ben swallows. It might not hurt Armitage, but he can't bear the thought of talking to him that way. He lowers his head and frowns.

"I don't want to hurt you." Armitage's voice is almost a snarl. "All we are doing is sating each other's desires for the time being. Stop thinking of me like something nice to be kept. I am not nice. I cannot be kept."

It sounds like a lie, like a recital, and it only serves to make Ben more intent on dissolving it.

He chips away at it throughout the day and night. Every hour he can spend with Armitage, he lets his eyes linger, lets his hands touch, lets his thoughts be known.

Armitage is strong. He never lets his stern brow waver, never lets his mouth curl up. His eyes, however, stay fiery, as do his words and his touches.

Fire can't be held, of course, but Armitage can.

"You love a challenge, don't you?" Armitage asks early one morning while the two are lounging in the tent before breakfast. He hasn't dressed yet — they both stayed warm enough together to ditch their clothes overnight — and sits cross-legged on the floor. He smells musky, not rancid but definitely a little wild.

Ben, as quickly as his fingers can move, works to capture his visage on a piece of flimsy. "I'm antagonistic," he replies quietly. His hair is still tossed, overgrown, and dull in the dark. His gaze, although sleepy, is intense — _heated _might be the word. Ben bites his lip as he pencils in the boxy shoulders, snaking the tip down to where his elbows rest on his knees. In the center of it all, he scribbles in a light trail of hair that leads down into the crux of his spread thighs. He looks up at Armitage's face, studies the shape of his jaw. It changes as he speaks.

"Antagonistic?"

He swallows against a sudden pit in his throat, and his skin goes cold. In the back of his mind, he can hear Snoke's rumbled purr. "I can't be helped." He tries to focus on the warm gaze, tries to put in on the flimsy, but it changes into something else.

Armitage flattens his brow. "Internally motivated, you mean."

Ben hums, blinking.

"Internal motivation is a good and healthy thing to have," he says, leaning forward and reaching an arm out to him. Instead of taking any body part, Armitage snags the sketchbook, turning it his way to look it over. "Knowing what you want, having the will to take it — those are good things. Don't let people take them away."

Ben bites his lip. "What does that mean?"

"That means don't let people call you antagonistic when really you're just motivated."

"That's not what I—" He stops himself short, huffing. He meant to ask what motivations Armitage was referring to — should he listen to Armitage and stop pursuing him, or should he listen to Armitage and pursue him regardless? He doesn't need to ask that, though. He's antagonistic — no, motivated.

When Armitage looks up from the sketchbook, Ben lunges forward, wrapping one arm around him and using the other to cushion their fall back onto the ground. Armitage tosses the sketchbook aside and places his hands on Ben's face. "See something you want, so you're just going to take it?" He's smirking, though, and his hard dick is hot against Ben's hip.

Ben growls, rutting against him. "You're not dressed."

With a bite to Ben's lip, Armitage rolls his hips. "Take it, then."

← × →

"So he died in his sleep, or something?" Phasma asks, frowning. "Because of the poisoning?"

Ben, Armitage, and Phasma are up at the front of the pack. Ben had rushed a little far ahead of the others, eager to get back up to the Lookout, and Armitage had dragged Phasma along as he followed. Talk of Atrius's Bane had shifted to its deadlier qualities, which then led to Anakin's symptoms before his death.

"No," Ben says, but he's not entirely sure. "He had enough energy to hike all the way up to at least where we are now, so I don't think it was that toxic."

"Then how did he die up here? Was he unprepared?"

He shrugs. "He's been up here lots of times. I think he had all his gear, but it's possible there was an accident. We don't know all the details exactly, only that he did hit his head at some point, which could have contributed."

Armitage hums, but then a beep sounds out from his chest. He frowns, fishing a comm out from a jacket pocket and looking at the screen. He stops moving. "One moment. Keep walking without me; I need to take this."

Ben hesitates, but Phasma clasps a hand over his shoulder and steers him onward.

"It's either a business call or a notification of an arrest warrant," she says, smirking. "He can handle it."

"Business call?"

She nods. "Needy people are always hiring, and he has a lot of contacts. Come now, let's make good time and let him catch up."

← × →

"Almost there," Ben sighs, nearly out of breath. "Just a little further."

Armitage wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead, panting. "I'm so close."

His red hair is shiny and long enough to grab, but Ben wouldn't dare. Instead, he keeps his hands firm on Armitage's hips as he rocks forward and bottoms out. "Feeling good?"

"I will if you move," he grits out.

Ben takes a moment to cup his hand under a cheek, feeling the hot, soft skin there and pressing his fingers into it. He's tight, too, and it drags as he pulls out. When he thrusts back in, Armitage curses.

They're not near the others this time. They're a walk away, kneeling on Ben's jacket next to a small creek. The cold air bites at their skin, and it doesn't take long for Ben's deep thrusts to become jerky.

Armitage comes quietly, tightening around him and sending sparks up his spine. Before he can even think to pull out, he's pounding in deeper and coming inside him. It's probably the most prolific he's been yet, he hates to admit.

"What the fuck, Solo?" Armitage hisses, reaching a hand back. He finds Ben's hip and pushes him off, wincing at the pull of his thick member. "Did you come in me?"

Cringing, Ben tugs his pants up and zips them closed. "Yes, sorry. I didn't mean to, but—"

"But you did," Armitage interrupts bitterly. Instead of pulling his clothes back on, he starts peeling them off. First his pants and boots, then his shirt and jacket.

Ben balks. "What are you doing? It's freezing out here."

Now naked, Armitage looks over his shoulder at Ben, using a hand to part his cheeks. "You came inside me." A glob of come rolls slowly down his taint as he barks an order at him. "Take off your shirt, Solo."

"Take off my…," he mumbles, shaking his head. "You can't use my shirt to clean that."

"I'm not going to." Armitage rolls his eyes and carefully stands before padding over to the rolling creek nearby. "I need it to dry off with. Now, take it off."

Ben gapes as Armitage steps into the creek bed and squats in the frigid water. He reaches one slender arm back behind himself and inserts his fingers into his hole, cleaning it out.

If Ben could get hard again so fast, he would. As it stands, he's already tired and cold and a little low on oxygen. He barely remembers to strip off his shirt as Armitage rises and steps out of the creek. He hands it over reverently, eyes roaming over the pinkened skin.

"Thanks," he mutters, accepting the shirt and using it to pat himself dry quickly before handing it back. "Though, I shouldn't be thanking you, Solo, after that."

Blinking, Ben frowns lightly. "You keep calling me that. What gives?"

Armitage has begun dressing himself once more. He's halfway into his pants, humming a question. "Call you what?"

"Solo."

A single side-glance is all he gives Ben at first, then a second one, followed by a shrug. "That's your name."

Ben sighs, shrugging in return and working his way back into the slightly damp shirt. "One of my names, I guess. I thought we'd moved past it, is all."

"Moved past your last name?"

"And other things."

Armitage, now dressed, watches Ben for a few silent seconds, face unreadable.

Ben swallows.

"My last name was Hux," he says, pronouncing it clearly with a sharp _x_. "Now we're even, and that's that. Stop reading into things."

← × →

They reach the Lookout the next afternoon, and Ben demands they begin their search immediately — setting up camp can wait until near dark.

This time, he can't bear to search two-by-two. The others might choose to go with a partner, but Ben won't thwart his chances this time. He grabs a machete, his datapad, some water, and his compass, and then pushes through the thick foliage as far as he can search.

It goes about as well as any of the other searches, and he must take a moment to clear his head before dazing back to camp. Everyone is eating their dinners when he returns, but he deigns to skip it in favor of retiring to bed.

Cold and alone, he keeps his clothes on in his tent, trying to stay warm while he pores over his grandfather's journal entries.

He's on Mount Veltha. He's up at Atrius's Lookout. This _is_ where Anakin said the Bane is found. It is. It has to be. There's no mixup, he's not on the wrong moon, and he's not looking for the wrong plant. 

He's just looking in the wrong place. That's got to be it. They aren't covering enough ground, is all.

It's definitely not because the plant is gone.

Ben takes a deep breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the datapad. This worry nested in his brain when his grandfather passed away. He had believed for a time that when Anakin died, the Bane died with him. Of course, as he got older and as his mother comforted him, he understood that things didn't work that way.

But still, the irrational thought has nagged him, still nags him, makes him ever regret talking Snoke into allowing this expedition to happen. Snoke was right — he's a liar, and he knows better. His parents knew better. He came against their wishes, fiercely against their knowledge.

He pulls out the compass and gives it a look, making sure it's still…

No, it's swaying, bobbing and forth to continually point away from home. It seems to pull more in one direction than the other, toward the tent flap, and he brings it closer to his face to study it, but is interrupted.

Armitage pushes the flap aside without warning, crawling into the tent with a bowl in hand. "You need to eat if you plan on searching tomorrow."

Ben quickly shoves the compass into his pocket, hiding it. He takes a look at the bowl, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry." 

"That's nonsense," Armitage mutters, pressing the bowl forward into his chest. "If you don't eat, you won't do well on your search, and this will all be for naught."

Ben takes the bowl, but before he can offer a _thank you_, Armitage is gone.

The night is very cold without him, and Ben sleeps deeply.

← × →

The next morning is the first of three that they'll be able to spend searching, and it is a rainy one. The downpour shortens the already pitiful visibility and weighs down their clothes and chills them to the bones.

Ben knew from the start that it would be a bad day. They found nothing before lunch and nothing before dinner, and when Ben retreated once more to his tent, he went alone. Again, Armitage did not join him. Again, the night was cold.

← × →

The rain lets up on the second morning, and the company doubles its efforts to spread and cover as much ground as possible. It doesn't go any better than the first day. Two and a half days of walking through the wilderness in search of something that can't be found doesn't do anything good for the human psyche.

When darkness falls once more, Ben can't shake the despair crawling up his spine. He eats robotically, then goes into his tent to prepare for bed. As he turns out his pockets, he glimpses the compass again, but something like a soft fear keeps him from studying it. He sticks it in his backpack, intent on ignoring the implications of the restless needle.

With a deep breath, he forces himself to relax. His shoulders are tense, his legs ache, and his feet are sore. His ego is also bruised, but there's nothing he can do about that. He can't dwell on today.

"Tomorrow is waiting," calls a voice from behind him. Armitage.

Ben glances over his shoulder briefly at the man entering the tent. He hums.

A hand falls on his back. "I know you're afraid that tomorrow will be another failure, but you did not come all this way for nothing. You will find the Bane. You have to."

He scoffs. "Right — because fate demands it, and that makes it so. By magic or something? I'll stumble upon it?"

Armitage pulls himself fully into the tent, settling himself up against Ben's back and snaking his arms around his waist. His lips fight through his hair and find his ear. "You have to," he whispers. "You need to. I've seen you and your hunger, and I dread to think of what would happen should you not sate it."

Biting his lip, Ben squeezes his fists around empty air to keep from squeezing Armitage's thin arms instead. The man behind him is warm and solid, something he's been missing the past few days. "Who are you to talk me about sating my hunger? You haven't even been here."

"Should I have? Is that my job?"

Ben huffs. "No, but—"

"My job is to help ensure that Atrius's Bane is found." He tightens his arms around Ben, constricting his chest and laying a hand over his heart. His breath is hot on the shell of his ear when he talks. "At this point, high upon a precarious peak, it is especially imperative that you follow through on your word and find it. After going this far, this high, the consequences for failure are unimaginable. I don't want to see you pay that price, face the humiliation and suffering that would escort you down the mountain. You cannot give up now, Ben."

He draws in a deep breath, pulling in as much air as he can in the circle of Armitage's arms. His words feel heavy, weighted and sharp, piercing his skin. The reality of one more day hits him again, and he bows his head. "But there's still a chance I might not succeed. My parents could be right, that the payoff isn't here. If I don't find it, if I fail, how will I go back home? Wh—"

"I don't think you will."

His eyes flicker to the compass hidden in its pocket. Home is nowhere, huh?

"You have to find the Bane tomorrow, Ben. This is your last chance." The arms around his chest fall away, and the heat against his back disappears.

"Wait, Armitage," Ben calls, grabbing an ankle before he can leave. "Stay the night?"

Armitage's eyes are pale and glassy under his creased brow. He looks at Ben's face carefully, down at the mat, then back up. With a minute shake of the head, he leaves.

The cold is bitter without him.

← × →

Armitage does not spend the following night with Ben either, when he thinks perhaps he needs him the most. With the final day proving to be an utter waste, a disaster, the final straw on the camel's back, Ben wants nothing more than to sleep — but he can't. He stays awake all night, listening to the sounds of the wilderness and wondering if this is the last thing Anakin heard before he died. He can't go back home after this.

← × →

The company is quiet on the return trip. Ben receives harsh glances from nearly all, though the odd smuggler, Canady, has a more gleeful and taunting look in his eyes. Thannison is the only one to spare him a few words, though they are not very comforting ones.

"How are you going to pay back that lender now?" he asks. They're lagging behind, bringing up the rear of the pack.

Ben swallows and shrugs. "I don't know." He'll have to get the money from somewhere, of course, but he doesn't have any ideas beyond his parents. They'll kill him if he asks for the sum he borrowed.

"Well, good luck," is all Thannison has to offer after that.

← × →

The next person to talk to him is a surprise — Phasma.

She hasn't said much to him this trip, and he'd scarcely call her friendly, but he supposes that they're both close enough to Armitage that they can talk to each other without awkwardness.

It's late evening, and Ben is a short distance away from camp. He can't bear the thinly veiled hostility, nor the utter coldness from Armitage, so he sits alone with his sketchbook, penciling out a new image on the flimsy.

The last time he saw Armitage's body uncovered was when they were out by the stream. Ben had taken him properly while they were there, but hadn't the mind to pull out in time to keep the other man clean. Armitage had taken to the stream, knelt in it and fingered himself in it, and Ben had saved that moment in his mind.

He lightly lays down the lines of his body — his head thrown back in focus, his arm reaching down, his legs spread. His face showed no fear of the cold water, but the rounded out mouth and creased brow betrayed how he felt about working Ben's come out of his body. Ben sketches those out as best as he can.

Phasma comes around as he's drawing the water rippling around him. She has her bag with her, and she keeps it between her feet when she sits down on a nearby rock.

"Good evening," Ben murmurs politely, head still bent over the flimsy.

"Good evening," she echoes softly. "I have a question for you."

He looks up. "Shoot."

She smirks, and it's full of more humor than he can say he's ever seen in such a look before. "That's exactly what I plan on doing, actually. What a funny coincidence." She reaches into the bag at her feet and pulls out a blaster. It's a flashy one, something she's clearly proud of, and it glints in the low light as she raises it and points the barrel directly at him.

Dread should be filling Ben's stomach by now — even panic or sheer terror would not be unwarranted — but he's alarmingly calm while Phasma stares him down. He supposes some part of his subconscious has been preparing for something like this since he first met the company, but he hasn't actively thought about it. It must be payback for the failure; he never should have led everyone on like this. Snoke was right.

"How many people did you lie to when you went begging for money?" she asks, one brow quirked up in amusement.

_One too many_, he thinks. Instead of answering, he swallows and grits his teeth.

She clicks her tongue. "I'll tell you this, Ben Solo — you are a right piece of shit, stealing money like you did. I heard about what you were telling all the potential lenders, I heard about all the lies, and I heard about when one succeeded."

"All the lies?" he asks, shutting his mouth again once the words are out.

She smiles. "Unless there are more?" Leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, she appraises him. "I'm mostly concerned with just one lie, Mister Solo. The one about repaying Algernon Pryde with earnings from the cultivation of Atrius's Bane."

He doesn't indulge her, so she keeps talking.

"Was the lie that the Bane was already found, or that you would pay him back? Because we're all inclined to believe that you haven't found the damn plant, but if you _have_ found it and are simply hiding it from us, then there are a lot more people than only Algernon Pryde who would like to be compensated."

Ben stares her in the eye awhile, pinned down. "I don't know where the plant is. Did Pryde ask you rob me back?"

A small laugh slips from her lips. "Ask me? To rob you?" Another laugh spills out, and her eyes crinkle. "Goodness, no. No one would ever ask me such a thing."

He sighs, still unsure what she's trying to do.

"He sent me money to ensure your debt to him would be paid, whether you have the funds or not. There was no asking involved and no robbery discussed."

"No robbery?"

"Only killing," she clarifies off-handedly. "That's what I do, Mister Solo. And that's what your boy Armitage does, too."

Of course, he already knows that Armitage is a mercenary, a gun for hire, but he doesn't know why he would be brought up during her job. "Armitage," he starts slowly, questioningly. "What does—"

"He accepted the task of killing you."

Only now does the blood in his body turn to sludge, and he furrows his brow in confusion. "He…accepted?"

"He agreed to the terms." She gestures with her shiny blaster while she speaks, recounting the events leading up to this moment. "You lied to a man named Algernon Pryde, right? Told him that you had already located the plant and begun your…whatever you do with it. That was very false, but he didn't know any better and wired you the money. Sound familiar?"

He nods slowly.

"That thief heard you," she says with a nod back toward camp. "Canady. When he tipped off Pryde, Pryde was pissed — a natural reaction, of course, to being deceived and having so much money stolen so easily."

Ben eyes the direction the camp is in, thinking back to that last phone call where he had finally met success. Canady was right outside the door. He could've heard everything, would've known that Ben was making everything up. He sighs, frowning.

"So Pryde gave a call to a conveniently-placed merc — Armitage."

Of course. Why would anyone _not_ call him in such a situation?

Phasma smiles wickedly. "Pryde asked Armitage to kill you. You see, although you may come from a wealthy family, Pryde cares far less about wealth than he does about honesty. You fucked over the wrong man, Mister Solo. He does pay dearly, though, so it's only fair that Armitage would agree, as he did. I got a call the following day, and I also agreed. We talked about it, considered that letting you search for the plant once more might be worth the delay, and decided to wait."

But Ben is a disappointment — disappointment enough for Armitage to…murder him. Just like he murdered his father, and has likely murdered too many people to count.

"You were never special to him," Phasma continues. "I hope you know that. It's not a betrayal for him to do this. It's nothing to cry or feel bad about. You didn't do anything wrong to him, and he's not doing anything wrong to you by this, either. Fair is fair. You really hurt Pryde, and now Pryde is returning the favor."

His heart freezes the moment she re-aims her blaster, pointing it directly at his head. Her finger moves from the trigger well to the trigger, and then a green blast rings out.

Her body slumps to the ground.

It looks ridiculous, Ben thinks, the way her body has become utterly boneless. She looks like a sack of meat and nothing more, limbs limp and positioned awkwardly.

Then he realizes that he's not dead. He's not even hit. Only Phasma took a bolt, as far as he can tell. Her weapon might not have even discharged.

There is a soft shuffle off to his right, toward camp. Armitage keeps his blaster trained on her body as he walks closer. Only after he reaches it, aims at her head, and fires the blaster once more, does he lower it. "I'm so sorry."

Ben swallows. "It's okay. I'm fine, I guess."

"I wasn't talking to you," Armitage hisses, scowling fiercely. "I can see you're fine — _obviously_." He looks back down at Phasma's slumped form. "B-but she… She is…," he chokes. His tone is trepidatious, confused, shocked. "She's _dead_. I killed her."

He just killed his friend, Ben digests. He killed her…for him?

His heart doesn't quite ache for Armitage's — Phasma would have been his murderer — but he can't just stand there while the man cries over what he's lost. He slowly steps up to him, where he is now kneeling at her side, and sets a soft hand on his shoulder. He grunts as the butt of Armitage's blaster jabs deep into his stomach.

"Don't touch me," Armitage barks, standing and taking aim. His eyes are wild, and his lip is trembling, but his hands don't do so much as twitch. "You're the reason she's dead. You, Ben. _You_."

Ben opens his mouth to argue, but Armitage cuts him off.

"There wouldn't be a hit out on your head if you had just _found it_." His voice is strained, going hoarse, and he lowers his blaster again. "She wouldn't have come out here after you if you hadn't been alone. I wouldn't have had to…"

Slowly, Ben backs away. "Sorry," he whispers. "I—"

"Why were you even out here anyway? Is that your sketchbook?"

In his hands, yes. Ben never let go of it, not even when Phasma put her finger on the trigger. He looks down at it, then turns it around to show Armitage.

Upon seeing himself in the cold stream, Armitage blanches. "You would've died over that — over drawing a man bathing in some branch of a stream instead of going back up to find the Bane." He looks Ben in the eye, and he is furious. "Is that stream making you money to save your life? To buy out the hit on you? To find the plant? Is that stream the direction you should be going in?"

Ben swallows, fumbles. He looks down at the drawing, then back up at Armitage. He has half an idea to look at his compass, find home, but the compass is back at camp. "I-I think, um," he trails off, glancing back down at the drawing.

"If you don't follow your grandfather's directions, whatever they are, and find that plant, I will need to kill you. That person in that drawing, that stream — none of that is important right now, Ben. You have to—"

"Actually, I think it is," he murmurs, tracing a finger over the water of the stream on the flimsy.

"What?" Armitage scoffs. "If you have to die, I'll have killed my only family for nothing." His voice is shaking, but whether it's out of anger or grief, Ben does not know. "You have to find the Bane, Ben. Don't make me kill you."

Ben looks back up at him, turning the sketchbook back around. "The stream. We have to follow it. I think I know where Atrius's Bane is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niibeth's [tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com) once again, and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nymeriaking).


	6. Wherever He Goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can [reblog niibeth's art on tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com/post/188956470513/explore) and [retweet it on twitter](https://twitter.com/Kortesku/status/1193627388309069826)!

"I think I know where Atrius's Bane is."

Armitage blinks, shaking his head minutely.

Ben holds the sketchbook aloft, putting the picture right in Armitage's face. "This stream," he says carefully, pointing to it. "This stream flows down the mountain. It comes from somewhere."

He's still shaking his head. "I, um, I," he mumbles, stumbling over his words. "Of course it comes from somewhere, Ben. I don't—"

"It comes from a place that's not on any map, as far as I know," Ben fills in. He tucks the sketchbook under his arm and pulls out his datapad, opening up Anakin's journal. He thumbs through it for a few seconds before realizing… "Wait."

It's not in the journal. That painting on the wall of his study, the only one without Atrius's Bane explicitly displayed, is not copied down anywhere else. Anakin never mentioned where exactly to find the plant, nor did he show it in pictures, and that may have been on purpose. The painting of the waterfall, though — that might be exactly where to find the plant. There are no copies of the painting, not even in the digital journal on Ben's datapad, but that doesn't mean they're out of luck.

"There's this waterfall," he starts, "in a painting in my grandfather's study. The real thing is here on this mountain; we just have to find it."

Armitage huffs. "There are bound to be—"

"Loads of waterfalls around here, I know." Ben's arm twitches toward him, but he remembers the earlier request not to be touched. "I know exactly what it looks like, though, and I can draw it for everyone so they can see it, too. We just have to find that stream we were at and work our way back up from there."

"The stream we were at," Armitage murmurs back, frowning. Slowly, he turns away and starts heading toward camp.

"Armitage?"

"Keep up. Come on."

Ben jogs to catch up with him, and then they quickly arrive back with the others, where Peavey accosts them.

"What are you doing?" he barks. "What were those blasts?" When he walks up to Armitage, Armitage walks right past, raising his blaster again.

"Moden Canady." He makes a beeline in his direction, setting his sights. "You're leaving," he announces.

There are shouts all across camp as Armitage stops in front of a shivering Canady, but the loudest comes from Kaplan.

"Armitage, what are you doing? Stop that! Where is Phasma?"

He whips his head around. "She's dead. I killed her." With a brief look at him up and down, he sneers. "You can pack your bags, too, Kaplan. I'm sick of you."

Ben shrinks into his shoulders as he watches Armitage threaten his handler and the smuggler. He doesn't see Mitaka or Thannison around — they're probably hiding, and they would be wise for it.

Next to him, Peavey shouts. "You do not get to single-handedly split this company in half, you little shit! Who are you to take things over like this?"

"I'm not," Armitage replies easily. "Mister Solo is taking things over. He's got a solid lead, and he'll take you to that plant you want so badly. As for me, I'm simply disposing of the vermin that would have stopped Mister Solo and even killed him. You're welcome."

Peavey sputters, turning around to look at Ben.

He shrugs, opening and closing his mouth before he has any idea of what to say. "Phasma tried to kill me," he offers with slow lips. "And, um, well…" He holds his sketchbook close to his chest, not wanting Peavey to see Armitage the way he drew him. "There's a stream we need to find — I know where it is — and that stream will take us to the plant."

Peavey looks back and forth between Ben and Armitage a few times before settling on Ben. "Now?"

He shrugs. "In the morning."

"I meant as opposed to the two other times we were up at the Lookout," Peavey snaps. "You couldn't have found it sooner?"

"He needed to take a different path, Peavey," Armitage calls over his shoulder. "Your navigation wasn't fully informed. But now, you and your boys can follow Mister Solo's direction. I'll be taking these two back down myself, starting tonight."

Ben frowns. "Tonight?"

"Yes, and I'll meet you in Semper Sol when you return."

← × →

Armitage leaves that night, taking Canady and Kaplan down the mountain at gunpoint, and Ben spends the night with his nose pointed down at his sketchbook.

Four pictures, one for each of them, showing the waterfall. A seed of doubt still plagues him, but he figures that after the encounter with Phasma, he doesn't have much farther to fall if he fails one more time. It can't be a coincidence that the one image devoid of Atrius's Bane would be the secret to finding it.

He distributes the pictures in the morning.

"This is what I have," he tells them as he hands them out. "I know there are only four of us now, so we'll have to cover as much ground as we can, but now that we have a more localized search, I think we can do it."

"And we're looking for a stream?" Mitaka asks when Ben hands him a piece of flimsy.

"One that leads to this waterfall, yes. I saw one about a day's hike up from here, where we last set camp before reaching the Lookout. Based on how close it was to our trail, I think it leads to the waterfall in this picture. This is what my grandfather painted and kept in his office."

"All right, then," Peavey sighs. "Let's get a move on. Thannison, we have enough supplies to last a few more days?"

Thannison nods. "Two days back up, a day to search, and then we have to head back down." He looks to Ben. "One day to search will be enough time, right?"

He nods. "We'll definitely get the Bane this time."

So they take back to the trail, making quick time with just the four of them, and Ben finds the stream quickly. He takes a moment to remember how Armitage looked underneath him, how he felt around him, how he sounded in the throes of their rendezvous. 

Armitage should be here with them. Out of all members of the company, he is the one Ben would choose to help him make the rediscovery. But he's not here, and they need to get a move on.

They start to follow the stream together. Mitaka tracks their progress on the uncharted map, and Thannison and Peavey clear a small path when needed. They camp only briefly, and then make their way up and up and up. 

When the path gets steep and the stream is found to split in two, separate branches feeding the same line, they split up. Peavey and Mitaka go left, and Ben and Thannison go right.

"So you're sure this time, right?" Thannison asks as they climb up slippery rocks. "The Bane will be at the end of this? There will be a waterfall that we'll probably have to climb, and then…that's it?"

"Yes, I'm almost completely sure," Ben allows. "This is the only real lead we have, so I'm trusting it."

Thannison doesn't look reassured, but they keep walking and climbing, spider droid following precariously behind.

When they stop for the night, they haven't reconnected with Peavey and Mitaka. It's just the two of them, and it's quiet. Stiffly, they share a tent for warmth and stake out again the next morning. 

Then, by Thannison's reckoning, they are rather near the Lookout when they have to stop for another night. At this rate, those canvases in Ben's bag will go unused. 

Then the morning comes, and Ben will remember this morning vividly.

No rain, no biting chill, no anguish. Only validation as they make their way out onto the plateau to find Peavey and Mitaka waiting for them in front of an idyllic view.

The waterfall looks just like the painting in his grandfather's study. It's loud, he could hear it for a ways off, but it's a glorious sound. Now they just need to search the grounds.

They fan out around the pool, never straying too far but never finding any hint of the plant either. When they stop for lunch, eating on the rocks, Ben jumps up and makes a run for the falling water, garnering shouts of confusion from the others.

"Atrius's Bane," he shouts over his shoulder in explanation before ducking under a gentle part of the falls to reach a cave behind it.

It's dark, much darker than the rest of the tall-growing forest, and he takes his datapad out for light, illuminating the cavern. It's got to be in here, he thinks. His grandfather said it grew in low light, but with the low light of the forest, he figured it would have been anywhere out there, but no.

_This_ is low light, now he knows. This is where Atrius's Bane grows.

And then he gasps. There it is.

It's tall, nearly of a height with him, and it reflects and refracts the light of his datapad like a crystal, glowing in every color imaginable.

He grabs his collection kit.

← × →

When the last fractured piece of the company gets back to Semper Sol, Ben is on cloud nine. He has a specimen, and he can take it home to his parents. Snoke isn't here, but he can imagine what he'd say.

_Finally._

And Ben agrees. It's been a long journey, and he ought to have had Atrius's Bane in his grasp weeks ago. But now he has it, and he's so tired from the journey that he could sleep for a week. 

Thannison books them all a room immediately, and outside his door, he finds Armitage.

"You look happy," Armitage observes, scrubbing his jaw. It's bare again, shaved down to smooth, pale skin. Ben can just make out a soft frown under his hand.

"I am," he murmurs, stepping up close. "I found the Bane. It grows in a cave behind that waterfall, and it's so beautiful — they're both so beautiful, the waterfall and Atrius's Bane. You need to see them to believe it."

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It's that beautiful?"

Ben sighs. "Yeah. When the light hits it, it glows in every color. I'd love to show you when we both have the chance."

Armitage hums, but doesn't say anything.

"You don't look so happy," Ben murmurs. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything is as it should be."

Frowning, Ben snakes an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. "If everything is as it should be, you wouldn't be upset. Is this about…?" He won't say her name so soon after the incident, but he doesn't need to.

"No, actually," Armitage mumbles, stiffening before sinking into his embrace. "She was family for a time, but family passes through your life — they are not your life. She stopped being good for my health years ago."

Ben looks in his eyes, studying them. "Then what is it?"

Armitage smiles again. "I take it you're going home after this? You'll keep the Bane and keep studying it, come back every now and then, live your life?"

"Perhaps. Do you object to that?"

"Not at all," he sighs. "It'll be good for you. I'm just…in a new chapter of my life now. Things will be strange for a while."

"Oh?"

"I killed Kaplan and Canady as soon as we stopped to rest."

Ben reels but doesn't loosen his grip on Armitage.

"Others know where we went, and they'll notice when only I come back, so with both Phasma and Kaplan dead, it's unlikely I'll ever be able to get such a comfortable job again. No one will want to deal with me. I'm too dangerous, too unruly."

He chuckles. "Dangerous and unruly enough to save my life and give me another chance to find what everyone was looking for," he points out before sobering up. "Thank you, by the way, for saving my life. You didn't have to do that. I wouldn't even have blamed you for killing me yourself. Up until then, I was a total disappointment."

Armitage shakes his head, looking away. "I couldn't kill you, Ben. I thought about it for days, I really did, but you're too good for that. I only kill bad men."

"If you only kill bad men, then I can see why bad men wouldn't want to hire you. They have something to fear now."

Now silent, Armitage nods his assent and then gestures to the door behind them, biting his lip. _Bed_.

Ben puts his key in the lock but doesn't turn it. "By spending the night with me, you agree to stick close on the way back down to Velthym. No more distancing yourself while you contemplate my murder?"

Armitage laughs shortly. "No, I'll definitely stick very close to you, just like glue, while I contemplate your life." He looks up at Ben. "You have a very good one."

"I do," he murmurs, turning the key and unlocking the door.

It swings open under Armitage's weight, and they make their way inside. Ben closes the door behind them before locking it and dumping his bag onto the floor. When he looks up, Armitage's jacket is gone, and he is already lifting his shirt over his head and casting it aside.

Ben drinks him in, remembering the way he looked in the waters that led to their bounty. But now, his muscles aren't cold with frigid temperatures; he's relaxed and soft, and his skin is blushing pink.

"Come here," he murmurs, and Ben shrugs his own coat off before letting himself fall into Armitage's arms. He pulls Ben's mouth into his and wraps his arms around his broad shoulders, pressing a word against his lips. "Powerful."

Ben slides a hand down the smooth plane of his back and hums. "P-powerful?" he breathes, pulling back to shuck off his shirt.

Armitage helps him tug it over his head and eyes him wondrously. "You are, now that you have everything."

"Everything," Ben repeats slowly. He snakes his arms back around his waist and holds him close, pressing their hips and hard cocks together.

The other man hums his assent, embracing him tightly in turn. With his head buried in Ben's neck, he whispers gently, "and no attachments holding you back." His lips are soft against his skin when he kisses him there, and the lack of a scratchy beard feels almost foreign now, but his body is warm and inviting. "I'll be honest with you. I've been half hard since I killed those two pathetic boys, but I haven't been able to get off without you."

Eager to solve the issue, Ben quickly unbuckles Armitage's belt and opens his pants, sliding them down over his hips and pushing him down to sit on the bed. Kneeling, he makes quick work of the boots and slides them off, pants following close behind.

Smirking lightly, Armitage reaches behind Ben to rest a hand on the back of his neck. "You look good down there."

He blushes, sending him a heated look as he gently grasps his cock and pulls the foreskin back. Leaning forward and breathing lightly over the head, he gives it a small lick.

Armitage massages his neck. "You're too good a boy for th—," he gasps, stuttering to a stop when Ben sucks him down suddenly and swallows around him.

Laving his tongue over the underside, he moans and flutters his lashes. He knees Armitage's legs further apart and meets his gaze as he brings his other hand up to cup his balls, rubbing them lightly.

"On second thought, you're obviously a very naughty boy." He eyes Ben playfully, mouth open just enough to show a hint of his pink tongue. As Ben bobs his head rhythmically, his breathing grows heavier. "I think you should swallow it all. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Ben moans around his cock again in response, stuffing his mouth with it and slobbering over it. His pants are too tight, and he palms at his own cock to ease it.

"Did you miss me?" Armitage asks, voice tight, and he hums an affirmative. "I couldn't stop thinking about you." Then his cock stirs, and his grip on Ben's neck tightens, and Ben's mouth fills with come.

He swallows dutifully, suckling on the tip until Armitage pulls him back by the hair. Smacking his lips, he finally opens his pants and fishes out his cock. Before he can even stand on his own, Armitage is pulling him up and onto the bed, rolling him over onto his back.

"Let's get this off of you," he murmurs, tugging off the boots and the pants while Ben strokes his cock slowly.

The bone-deep tiredness settles over him easily, weighing down his whole body, and when Armitage replaces his hand with his mouth, the relief takes him full-force. Splaying his arms out over the bed and letting the cool air push him deeper into exhaustion, he relaxes under the wet heat and gentle caresses Armitage lays on him. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, biting his lip at the peppering of fleeting touches over his hips and his legs and his stomach. Each time he feels the pull on his cock, he sighs and sinks further into the bed.

"It's rude to fall asleep while someone is pleasuring you, Ben."

Ben hums softly. "I'm not. 'M just feeling everything I need to feel right now." There's a brief pause where Ben feels nothing and hears nothing, and then he groans at the velvety slide of a tongue on his balls. "_Fuck_, yes."

Two hands grip his hips tightly as the hot mouth covers his cock once more, pumping at a slow but steady pace. His stomach clenches as a wave of heat pulses through him, and he groans. All at once, his muscles flex and relax, and his already dark vision goes black.

← × →

The next morning is as good as the last.

Ben wakes up to a very warm body wrapped around his and a mop of ginger hair spread over his face. It's quiet and peaceful, and he basks in it for as long as he can before his thoughts start to form and run wild in the silence. When Armitage wakes, they tighten their grips on each other and spend a few more minutes in silence before Ben breaks it.

"When I first met you, I thought you were an asshole."

Armitage snorts. "You weren't wrong."

Ben disagrees. "No, you're not an asshole. You're careful, and that's a good thing. But further, when you told me about what you did to your father, I thought you were a monster, that you were heartless. I said some things to you back then, and I was wrong because I didn't even know you at the time."

He looks up at him, green eyes squinting. "What are you getting at?"

"I want to apologize for being so callous. I responded to a small amount of information, and I did it without thinking. I've since learned that you're not a monster at all, that you're not heartless, and that you have even sacrificed more for me than anyone else I know. I'm not talking about money, because that's no object to the people who have paid me. I'm talking about your life, the people in it and the way you live. I don't hate you like I thought I did. I adore you."

Armitage's eyes widen dramatically. "Don't say that, Ben."

"What? That I adore you?"

His mouth opens in shock, but he doesn't breathe, and his eyes stay wide as he chokes. "Y-you can't… No. You can't adore me, Ben." His eyes are wet with unshed tears. "I am not the kind of person who can be adored. Don't do that."

Ben scoffs, tugging him closer and palming his cheek. "You saved my life, so I'm going to adore you as long as I live."

"N-no," Armitage stutters, burying his face in Ben's neck. "You're too good for that."

Ben strokes his hair and rubs his back but doesn't give in. "Instead of looking for work in systems where you're wanted by the law or wanted by criminals, you could come home with me and lay low for a while. And if you feel like staying…"

"I can't have a family again, Ben," he keens.

"You deserve one."

He just grunts.

Ben won't try to convince him. Instead, he asks a question. "What will you do when I go back to Naboo?"

"Finish all of this."

He blinks. "Finish? What do you mean?"

Armitage pulls back an inch to speak more clearly. "Don't pay back Pryde. I'm going to find him and kill him. Same goes for Snoke. Peavey, too, probably. I'm sick of old men who use people."

The casual dismissal of their lives is a shock to Ben, but he can't bring himself to care all that much about the old men, either. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. I don't know how long it will take, but no matter what, please don't pay back Pryde. He doesn't deserve it."

"I stole from him, Armitage."

"Not really," he scoffs. "Like you said, money is no object to the people who have paid you. Let me handle it. I want to."

Warmth blossoms in Ben's chest, and he pulls Armitage into a deep kiss, breaking it only to sing his praises once more. "I adore you, Armitage. When you're done with this, I—"

"I still won't fit in your society, dear Ben. And I don't think Naboo would let me past customs anyway." He rests a hand on Ben's face and looks him in the eye, smiling. "As wonderful as it would be, I cannot follow you."

Ben places his hand on top of Armitage's in solidarity. "But I can follow you."

His eyes widen, but Ben cuts him off before he can deny him.

"I've already left on one idiotic quest against my parents' wishes. I've already met you. I've already done what needed to be done here on Mount Veltha. I've already come to adore you." A knot forms in his throat, straining his voice, and he swallows around it. "Why should I go back home after all of this? Especially without you. I was suffocating there, and I'd be loathe to live that way again."

"I don't want you to get hurt," Armitage whispers.

"Then it's a good thing you won't be working with bad men anymore."

He huffs, rolling his eyes. "Like that makes a difference."

"Take me with you," Ben insists. "I mean it. I've got canvases in my bag that are begging to be stroked with a brush. If it doesn't work out, I can just call home and beg my mother to take me back. She's soft like that."

"Don't break your mother's heart."

"Fine. I'll go home, wait for you to kill the men you need to kill, and then you can take me with you. How does that sound?"

Armitage watches him for a moment. "I put all this work into keeping you away from bad men… Have I actually corrupted you? Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth?"

"If you have corrupted me, I don't regret it," Ben laughs. "So tell me, Bad Man, will you steal me away from my home and show me the real world?"

He smirks. "If you insist."

"Oh, I insist."

← × →

As the last five members of the company of nine trek down into the village of Velthym, Ben fishes the compass out of his pocket once more. Facing down the road toward his way back to the Manor, he studies the needle, which now points steadily elsewhere — behind him or perhaps right at him, he isn't sure. It's certainly not to where he and his parents have resided for so long.

Its energy is strong, not magnetic but very much alive. It seems to know something he can only grasp the abstract edges of, and its needle seems to mock him with its decisiveness.

"Distracted?" Armitage calls from behind him, bringing up the rear. He catches up to Ben quickly, clasping a hand on his shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

Ben looks up at him briefly before studying the needle again. "Just this compass my dad gave me," he murmurs. The needle is now pointing slightly to his right.

"Well, don't listen to it. North is about sixty degrees clockwise, over there more to your left."

Biting his lip to suppress a smirk, Ben pockets the compass and wraps an arm around Armitage's waist. The buzzing weight of the compass leaves a tingling sensation in his palm, and he presses it firmly against his lover to ease it. "I'm not following North anymore. I'm following you."

← THE END →

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this fic! I hope you've enjoyed it! Please be sure to reblog/retweet the art from the artist. Her prompt was so wonderful, and writing this for her was a joy!
> 
> Niibeth's [tumblr](https://niibeth.tumblr.com) once again, and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/nymeriaking).
> 
> If you're looking for another wonderful fic to read, I'd like to recommend ['Things We Couldn't Kill'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21382558) by technorat and with more art from niibeth! It's so good!


End file.
